It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade
by VirendraLione
Summary: Dean was not Alastair's first protege. Before Dean, there was Rachel... Rated M for violence, language etc. But hey, you can't have a story involving Alastair without throwing in a bit of torture, right?
1. A Proposition

_Ok, so I thought I'd try to write something a bit different…Something darker than the Castiel one shots, but still Cas-centric. I love Castiel and I love feeling sorry for him. I'm sure there are others out there who feel the same so I'm writing this for them. Sorry Castiel, I don't mean to be so cruel to you. I just think this will be therapeutic and I really want to write it…Sorry again. _

_I do not own Castiel, Sam, Dean, Bobby, Alastair or Supernatural at all. I just love it so much; I have to write about them. Anyway enjoy!_

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**It cuts like an Archangel's Blade…**

_**Dean was not Alastair's only protégé. Before Dean, there was Rachel, a girl who didn't turn out not to be as righteous as Alastair first thought. She was supposed to be the one to break the first seal and when it didn't work Alastair made other plans for her.**_

**Chapter One: A Proposition.**

Hell was supposed to be hot. Full of fire and brimstone. That's what they told her at Sunday school…but the reality was so much worse.

It changed constantly. One day it would be like stepping into the sun, on another it would be ice cold and on other days it would be mild, neither here nor there. These moderate days were the worst, the temperature no longer a distraction. All there was to focus on was the sting of the blade, scraping across the skin, creating deep fissures from which blood poured freely.

Rachel broke on 17th day of the 22nd year. The temperature was mild and Alastair was in a good mood.

He pressed his face close to hers, savouring the tears as they crept, unbidden from bloodshot eyes, no doubt pre-empting what was about to happen.

She was naked, save for the thick leather straps that bound her to the altar. That's what he called it; his altar. It resembled a vertical stretcher, though it was made of cold rusty metal, designed for discomfort. It poked at her flesh, bruising it if she even breathed and if Rachel struggled, the device would cut her. She could never tell if it was a sharp piece of rusty metal or something supernatural and unseen, but it would cut her always, without fail.

Rachel gritted her teeth in a desperate bid to stay the tears in her ice blue eyes. Alastair liked tears and the more you gave him, the more he wanted.

"How long have we been doing this, Rachel?"

Rachel's heart swelled, that voice always took her by surprise. Smooth, well-spoken and with an English accent, just like her first real boyfriend, all those years ago, before the mistake that had cost her soul. Her eyes softened momentarily and he moved as if he were about to kiss her, laying a soft hand on her right shoulder. She inched her face closer to his, drinking in the few precious moments of peace when she could pretend she was back on Earth, alive and happy. She could smell his aftershave, hear his calm breathing. Alastair's dark, intense eyes looked deep into hers and he twitched momentarily, ridding his left eye of an unwanted strand of his raven hair. His hair was short but growing out, just how she liked it. She had made him grow it, telling him he looked more handsome. If she remember rightly the conversation, like many others, had ended in a kiss. And it was the kiss she was dying to remember.

Alastair moved a millimetre or so closer, just so their lips almost touched and waited. Rachel savoured the bliss even though she knew it wasn't real.

'Anything…' She told herself, 'Any tiny sliver of joy, was better than nothing.'

Then came the blade in her side. She cried out in pain, her nerves acutely tuned to every tooth on the serrated edge. He twisted it and the screams turned to gurgles as Rachel coughed up blood. She tore her gaze away from his hypnotising eyes and looked to the floor in morbid curiosity. She coughed again, spewing mouthfuls of blood and acid as her stomach tried to expel the foreign object.

Alastair gave the knife another twist, dragging it a few inches across her abdomen and then he wrenched it from Rachel's side. She moaned, unable to stop the tears now as she watched a curdled yellow mass spill out onto the floor, joining the regurgitated blood. The mass looked like intestines, but logic told her they couldn't possibly be, since she was still alive.

An unbidden memory jerked back to her. It was a history lesson, she was fifteen, the teacher was explaining how traitors would have been killed in medieval England,

"_The prisoner would then have their entrails cut out and burned before their own eyes!"_

Rachel felt another jolt of pain as Alastair dragged the knife along her left arm, starting at her elbow joint and stopping just before her wrist. She felt every tooth as it ripped chunks out of her. A few pieces of ruptured flesh fell away in the torrent of blood. She cried out again.

Alastair smiled, "Come now, Rachel. How long have we been together?"

She had forgotten about the hand on her shoulder, but remembered it suddenly as Alastair tightened his grip. The hand became coarser and the skin felt like it was crawling. Rachel resisted the urge to look as the demon dug his talons deep into her flesh. Something grazed bone and she moaned again.

"How long?" Alastair growled, thrusting his head closer to her again, causing some of his untidy hair to fall about his face. Rachel winced.

"A…while." She breathed, gritting her teeth harder, making them ache.

This was not the right answer it seemed. The demon's grip on her shoulder tightened and a bone snapped. Rachel screamed and her vision prickled with dark spots. She took a few rattled breaths in a futile attempt to steady herself. Alastair released his grip on her arm and walked a few paces away from her. Rachel used these moments to try and move her arm, wincing as the bone splintered beneath the flesh. The Altar punished her disobedience and she felt another wound open up at her back.

"Please Alastair…" She took a deep breath, hating the way the pain made it rattle.

Alastair turned to her, pivoting on his heel, cheerily.

"Did you say something, my dear?" he asked, smiling ear to ear. He tilted his head to one side and cupped a hand around his ear. "I didn't quite hear you."

Rachel's brow creased as much as her weakened muscles would allow, "Please…stop, Alastair…P-please…"

Alastair shook his head and his smile softened a little, "Oh come now, my dear, I didn't get to be the best at what I do, giving in to every little plea, now did I?" With this the demon strode over to her. His smile faded, and a large syringe appeared in his hand. Rachel's eyes widened. Alastair stuck the needle into her neck. She jerked away, earning herself a few gashes on the back of her head. She watched through her peripherals as Alastair pressed the plunger down. She felt the liquid enter her body and for a second or two, she felt nothing. Numbness ensconced her and she was suddenly grateful. Alastair removed the syringe, tossed it over his shoulder and pressed himself up to her again. His eyes were black and soulless and his voice was primal and little more than a growl. He gripped her throat with the same hand as he had grabbed her shoulder with and squeezed. The talons pierced her flesh and she would have cried out if she could have breathed properly.

"If I gave in to every little fit of begging, I would be the one on the rack…not you.

Rachel half remembered that the rack was another method of torture used in medieval England.

Alastair removed his hand, giving Rachel a short, sharp, shove which caused her head to slam against the back of the Altar. He smiled maliciously as Rachel screwed her eyes shut and grimaced against a new pain. Her insides were burning.

At first she wondered how but then she caught sight of the syringe on the floor. She breathed deeply, rasping through flared nostrils and teeth gritted so tight they threatened to crack. She felt a warm liquid escape from her eyes and at first she thought they were tears. However, looking downwards a flash of crimson told her otherwise.

Her vision blurred and burned white hot. She could hear Alastair's laughter but she could no longer see him. Panic overcame her as her world went black and she realised what he had done. He had blinded her. She thrashed against the Altar, ignoring the resulting lacerations and the tightening of the straps against her torso. She let out an involuntary wail. The wailing turned to sobbing as she hung her head, finally defeated. Surely the day was over now? She wanted to go back to her chains, she wanted to try and sleep, to try and dream.

"Alastair!" She screamed. "Please?"

Alastair's palm connected with her jawbone and the shock of it knocked the breath out of her. She felt his hot breath on her cheek and she shrunk away from it.

"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel…"

She imagined him shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"What have I told you? I don't respond well to begging or pleading."

Rachel gasped and another slap came from unknown origins. This one was sharper and she felt three long cuts swell on her face.

An unseen hand gripped her chin, she struggled against it to no avail.

"You have to haggle, offer me something in return."

Rachel was almost glad she couldn't see his malicious smile. She knew what was coming.

"I can make you a deal; I'll put down my instruments, if you take up a set of your own."

The demon had made this offer everyday and everyday Rachel had found the strength to refuse. She had lost count of the number of days she had endured Alastair's altar, but somehow, even though the demon wore the face of someone she so loved, she had never broken.

Today was different. The temperature was mild and Alastair was in a good mood. Rachel was tired and bloodied and broken. She was hopeless and resigned to the fact that, as much as she wished and yearned for it, no one was coming to save her. If she was going to get out of this she had to be selfish, she had to break.

"I'll do it." She breathed in resignation.

Alastair smiled, but pretended not to hear the girl, "Say that again?"

Rachel took a deep breath, "I said I'd do it! You hear me, now? I'll do it! I'll fucking do it!"

Rachel was tried of screaming and her breathing became shorter and shallower as the scream faded into quiet, self-loathing sobbing.

"Just…please…stop."

Rachel opened her eyes, tentatively, and found she could see again. Subconsciously she looked herself up and down. She was still unclothed but there were no cuts or bruises on her skin, her arm had mended somehow and she no longer tasted her own blood. She gave a smile, despite her gut feeling telling her she wasn't out of the woods just yet. She moved to stand but something restricted her. There was a cuff, fastened around her ankle, connected to a thick chain which in turn was connected to an unseen wall. She looked around her. The surroundings were strange to her, not like the usual place she was sent after a day's torture. She breathed a sigh of relief and wondered what this change in environment meant.

"We'll begin the lessons tomorrow, my dear, but for now you can sleep."

The disembodied voice belonged to Alastair, Rachel was sure of it, but it contained a tone that she hadn't heard before. She couldn't quite place it, but she liked it. Something about tomorrow would be different, something about tomorrow would be good and Rachel was determined to be ready for it.

She instinctively dropped to the cold hard floor and curled up, letting unconsciousness find her.


	2. The Angel Up Our Sleeve

_**I don't own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I might mention in this here Fanfic. I just love them sooooo much…God, I wish I did own them…**_

**__****A bit of a short chapter this one, but I think it's enough to establish that something is wrong or about to go wrong for Castiel. The next chapter will be better, I promise. **

**Chapter Two: The Angel up our sleeve.**

Sam's brow furrowed as he pushed open the door to the motel room. He took in the still form of Castiel, laying on one of the beds, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. Sam gently closed the door behind him, let his bag slide to the floor and placed the room key on the small dining table.

"Cas?" he ventured quietly, tilting his head to the side a little. Slowly and cautiously he approached the angel when he made no attempt to move at his voice.

Sam studied Castiel intently. There were no bruises or cuts, there was no blood running from his nose and no sign that he should be exhausted from time-travel or the like. The angel hadn't even bothered to remove his long coat and this suggested that his little nap probably hadn't been planned.

Sam's brow creased deeper, an uneasy feeling rising up inside him. Something was wrong, really wrong; as far as he knew, Castiel didn't need sleep like humans did and in all his time with the angel, the only time he had seen him sleep was when he needed to recover after endeavours requiring a lot of power.

Sam reached a tentative hand forward and placed it on Castiel's shoulder. He shook him gently at first and then slightly harder when the angel refused to respond.

"Cas!" he hissed. It didn't work. Castiel remained comatose.

Sam shook his head and decided that the best thing he could do was to wait for him to wake up on his own. He crossed back over to the door and rummaged through his bag, finding his mobile phone. He punched in Dean's number and waited for the other end to pick up.

"Dean? Dude, I think you'd better get back to the motel…No nothing's wrong, well…No, no, I'm fine. It's Cas…He's asleep." Sam could almost feel Dean frowning in confusion at the other end of the line. The younger Winchester gave a short, nervous laugh.

"I know, right…Alright, see you soon…Bye."

Sam hung up and turned to face Castiel again. He looked across to him, his jaw line rippling as he gritted his teeth, hoping that this was normal behaviour for an angel, but guessing it wasn't.

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Sam was sitting on the bed beside the one where Castiel was laying. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He watched Castiel attentively for any sign of movement, for a second he thought he saw him twitch but this could have been a trick of the light since the angel remained asleep.

The younger Winchester started at the sound of the door opening and stood, turning towards the noise.

Dean gave a small nod in greeting as he entered, dropping the room key to the tabletop and moving to stand aside his younger brother.

"How long has he been asleep?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged in response and gave a slight shake of his head, "I dunno…I've been here for about half an hour, but I've no idea how long he was here before that."

For a few minutes the Winchester brothers stared to Castiel, transfixed and confused.

They both moved to turn away from him, but turned back almost immediately when the angel awoke with a terrified gasp.

Castiel sat up in the bed, all but leaping against the headboard as if in shock. His chest heaved as he struggled to take in enough air. His blue eyes darted around, nervously, trying to ascertain where he was, but he seemed to calm himself a little when he took in the familiar forms of Sam and Dean.

"Cas? You ok?" Dean asked, the nonchalance in his voice clashing with the concern and fear in his eyes.

Sam approached Castiel's bedside cautiously as he shook his head.

"What happened?" Sam asked the shaken angel. He noticed sweat beading on Castiel's brow and watched as he screwed up his eyes and then opened them again as if he were suffering from a migraine.

"I was asleep." He concluded. His breathing steadied a little and calculating expression replaced the one of fear and bewilderment.

Dean rolled his eyes, "And?"

"Dreaming." the angel offered, looking up to the Winchester brothers for any sign that they understood the magnitude of the situation.

"And that's bad?" Sam pressed, wanting to confirm his suspicions.

Castiel shook his head slowly, "No, not necessarily bad…just…unheard of."

"Well?" Dean began, giving a coaxing nod, "What did you dream of?"

Castiel turned away from the Winchesters and fixed his gaze on the window on the front wall of the room. He stared out of it for what seemed like an age, trying to make sense of what he had seen.


	3. Thursday's Child

_I do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean, Castiel, Alastair or any of the other characters I may mention in this fan fiction. _

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**Chapter Three: Thursday's Child. **

Castiel appeared in the motel room and grimaced when neither Sam nor Dean could be seen. Dean was following a lead, Castiel knew that, but where was Sam?

His concentration was broken as the headaches began again, sharp, stabbing, throbbing pain at his temples. His vision prickled with white spots and he winced involuntarily as the pain kicked it up a gear.

Castiel staggered over to one of the beds and perched himself on the end of it. He tried to massage the headache away with his forefingers, placing them on either side of his head and making tiny circles with them. This didn't work. If anything, the pain worsened.

He noticed the white spots grow until there was barely anything more. Castiel screwed up his eyes and opened them again, repeating the action a few more times when his sight did not improve. He tried his best not to panic, but despite his efforts his heartbeat pounded in his ears and it was getting faster.

The angel reached backward, feeling that there was enough of the bed behind him to lay down. He tentatively lowered himself onto the sheets and took a deep breath, closing his eyes calmly. For a second the pain alleviated and he took in the blurry, but noticeable shape of the ceiling fan. He gave a sigh of relief and made a vague attempt at sitting up.

This was a big mistake. It seemed that this small action was enough to disable any remaining barriers and the headache charged again, pulling out all the stops. Castiel couldn't see again and his head felt like it was splitting in half. He tried with all his resolve to keep the migraine from overtaking him completely, but his efforts were futile and after a second or so more of trying to fight it, Castiel gave in to the preying unconsciousness.

When Castiel opened his eyes he noticed three things; One was that he could see again, the second was that the migraine had vanished and the third was that his surroundings had changed.

Instead of the motel room, Castiel found himself in some sort of corridor. It looked like the interior of some sort of abandoned warehouse or factory building. It had industrial decay written all over it.

Graffiti crawled up the walls ignoring the patches of rust that pock-marked the thin metal walls. At the end of the corridor there was a large window, split into several panes of glass at the bidding of a lattice-work of metal struts. A few panes of glass had been smashed but Castiel looked beyond this, gleaning the fact that it was still light outside. He turned and walked slowly and cautiously down the corridor. His brow furrowed, neither feeling nor hearing his footsteps on the floor. He tested this further, tapping his toes against the worn and filthy surface. When no sound came he knelt and ran is finger along it a few inches, in the exact spot his foot had been. It didn't feel like he imagined it should; he imagined it would feel cold, damp and grimy. Instead there was only a slight tickle which seemed ill-defined in temperature.

Castiel stood slowly, staring at the spot on the floor, his frown remaining steadfast. Something was wrong and he needed to figure out what it was. His train of thought was broken as a scream erupted along the hallway.

It seemed to come from an opened door to the far end of the landing. Castiel quickened pace a little, following the whimpering and sobbing that had replaced the scream.

He came to a halt in front of the door and pushed himself against the wall, peering around the door jamb discreetly. There was a rectangle of light cast at the far wall, throwing forth the shadow of a large figure, but this vanished at the sound of a door slamming.

Castiel edged anxiously over the threshold. There was just enough light from a small window high up on the wall to his right, for him to take in the shape of someone tied to a chair in the centre of the room. Castiel's first instinct was to rush over to the captive and release him or her, but something about this whole situation was wrong and he wasn't about to do anything stupid.

Instead he anxiously stepped over to the chair, eyes darting to where the other door had been, every now and again lest anyone appear there.

Whoever was in the chair was still whimpering. Castiel rounded it and moved so that he could see the captive's face. He crouched down and twisted so that he could see it better.

The captive was female, maybe about 24 years old. In the dim light Castiel could pick out little more than that. She was leaning forward, probably exhausted from struggling. Something dripped from the girl's mouth and Castiel 's gaze followed it, only to find a small pool of a thick sticky substance collecting on the floor in front of her. Blood, he was sure of it.

Castiel tilted his head to the side and cleared his throat gently.

The girl jumped and looked to him with wide, panic-stricken eyes. Her brow creased a little as she took in the unfamiliar features, but this expression soon turned to one of fear.

"Please, don't hurt me." She mewed, her gaze finding the floor.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, his frown softening, "I'm not going to hurt you." he assured her even though he doubted she would believe him. "I'm here to help you."

Castiel kept his voice low and soft, just in case anyone should hear. The girl found his gaze again and tears welled up in her eyes.

"Help me?" She asked, Castiel nodded.

The girl smiled dreamily, "You mean it worked?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed, "What worked?" He asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I prayed that someone would save me…"

The girl seemed to straighten up a little and as she did so, Castiel caught sight of the glimmer of light on polished metal. Around the girl's neck was a small silver crucifix.

The girl swallowed in disbelief, smiling a toothy blood-stained smile, "You must be an angel." She concluded.

Castiel gave an uncertain nod, not sure whether or not the girl should know about angels. He tilted his head to the side.

The girl began to speak again, her eyelids drooping a little as if she were greatly fatigued, she tried her hardest to maintain eye contact with her potential saviour.

"What day of the week is it?" She asked.

"Thursday." Castiel offered uncertainly, too lost in trying to figure out what exactly could be going on to wonder why the girl would want to know this.

The girl's smile widened and she swallowed again, "Then you must be Castiel."

Castiel looked to her, locking eyes with her, intensely.

" How do you-" He began, cut off by the sound of a door creaking open. A large figure appeared in the rectangle of light and stomped across towards the girl in the chair. The girl grimaced and tears began to fall from her eyes. Castiel stood and rounded the chair, hurriedly, facing the figure. He readied himself and swiped at the stranger as soon as he was within reach.

Nothing happened. He expected the feeling of the man's thick jaw against his fist but there was nothing. The stranger powered forward and walked straight through the bewildered angel. Castiel pivoted to face the girl who was now whimpering and crying at the prospect of being at the mercy of this figure.

Castiel tried to move forward, but instead he found himself outside, looking at the building. He could hear screaming in the distance and his stomach wrenched, imagining what the girl was being subjected to. He gave a defiant shake of his head and started forward again; he _was_ going to save her.

Castiel gasped and looked around fearfully, his surroundings had changed again but this time everything seemed real. He could feel the lumpy mattress of the motel room bed beneath him, he could feel himself breathing, he could feel sweat on his brow.

Dean and Sam came into view and he was all at once thankful. Castiel took a minute to calm himself and think about what just happened.

"Cas? You ok?" Dean asked, the nonchalance in his voice clashing with the concern and fear in his eyes.

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_**Wow, so what's happening to Cas, then? He's suddenly dreaming and about a girl who knows about him being the Angel of Thursday and everything, to boot...**_

**_Anyway, hope you like it and the next chapter will be up soon. Oh and By the way, thanks for the reviews, guys, I love reading them and they keep me writing. :) xx_**


	4. Righteous Man, Simple Man

_**Hi guys, Sorry for making you all wait so long for the next chapter. I really have no excuse and in all honesty this isn't my best work. I did get a bit stuck with this one since it's supposed to be sort of a flashback for Rachel...I'm not sure if it fits in here but hopefully you'll see what I was trying to achieve. If I can do it properly then there will be flashbacks and bits and pieces laced in with the present day storyline...This chapter is obvioucly set before Dean gets to hell and before Alastair is killed. **__**Anyway, Hope you like it and as always; reviews are love. xx**_

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I mention or use in this Fan fiction. _

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**Chapter Four: Righteous man, Simple man.**

Rachel's eyes flew open at the bidding of Alastair's disembodied voice. She shifted uncomfortably into a seated position, her muscles and bones aching from sleeping on the cold hard floor.

"Are you ready, Rachel?"

The girl swallowed hard and gave an uncertain nod.

"Good."

In a second, everything changed. Rachel found herself in a characterless, windowless room. With a lurch of her stomach she noticed the familiar form of Alastair's altar, pushed up against a grey blood-stained wall. Stomach acid rose in her throat, but she fought hard the urge to vomit.

Looking down, Rachel gave a slight smile in relief; she had been permitted clothes. The clothes she had been wearing when she was on Earth, before everything went black. A pair of dark jeans, red converses and her favourite hoody (plain black and one size too big to make it baggy and comfortable) zipped up over a red t-shirt with a vague design printed on it in silver.

She turned with a startled gasp as a voice came from behind her.

"Shall we begin?" it asked.

Rachel took in the form of the voice's origin. She was certain the man standing before her was Alastair but he had changed his guise. He no longer looked like _him_, instead this man had fairer, shorter hair and green eyes. He also had a longer face and a slightly thinner physique.

He smiled, an unusual softness creeping into his eyes. Alastair leant forward and placed a gentle hand on Rachel's left cheek. She flinched momentarily until her muscles softened to the touch.

Alastair raised his eyebrows at her expectantly and it took a moment for Rachel to realise what he was getting at. She remembered his question and she gave a short quick nod, not wanting to disappoint or anger him.

Alastair removed his hand and took a minute step back, so that he still occupied much of Rachel's focus. He tilted his head and clasped his hand together, the softness in his eyes replaced with an evil anticipation. He then made an elaborate pantomime of stepping to the side and out of Rachel's line of vision. His sudden absence revealing a table of dark, blood-stained wood littered with implements of torture.

Rachel's eyes widened and her body trembled involuntarily. Some of the instruments she recognised, but there were many she didn't. Inwardly, she was glad that she had not felt the sting of the unseen weapons against her flesh; even the mere glance at a few caused stomach acid to rise in her throat again.

Alastair appeared at her side and placed an arm around her shoulder, "They are all yours, my dear. Every last little thing you see on that there table is yours."

Rachel glanced momentarily to him, wondering if she should say thank you or not. For whatever reason Rachel had said yes to Alastair's proposition, she still knew that what she was about to do was entirely wrong. Still it had been done to her and it would happen whether she did it or not, for she was sure Alastair would not give up so easily.

Alastair's voice slithered into her ear again, smooth and affectionate, "It's my little gift to you, my dear. And all you have to do for me in return, is enjoy it."

Rachel's eyes turned frantic for a second and Alastair smiled again, "Oh, don't worry. It will be hard at first but you will learn…Now go on, pick something out."

He released her and gave her a gentle nudge towards the table. His eyes narrowed and clasped his hands together behind his back as he watched her.

Rachel took a few tentatively steps towards the table and ran a finger along it's worn surface. It was warm and sticky in places and she swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. For what seemed like an age, she stared at the array of instruments. She was torn, wondering whether she should choose something impressively violent and cruel or just go for something simpler like an ordinary knife or razor. She wondered what Alastair was expecting and whether this was some sort of test, devised for his own sick pleasure. She didn't trust him not to snap if she chose the wrong item; she knew what he was capable of and Rachel really had no desire to anger him.

In the end she picked up the first thing that had caught her eye. She recognised it from her own sessions with the inquisitor; a vicious looking hunting knife about ten inches long. It had a serrated edge and curved slightly at the tip. The handle was carved bone and the natural dimples were flecked with dried blood. Rachel wondered if any of it was hers.

She turned shakily, presenting the knife to Alastair whose smile widened a little at the result.

"Very good." He praised, "Now, let's practice…"

In an action that was simply too fast, Alastair had brought his left hand up in the air and clicked his fingers. A young man appeared, strapped to the altar, head slumped forth as if he was sleeping. His fair hair was matted with sweat and dirt and blood trickled from the left side of his lip.

Rachel instinctively looked away, not merely for the poor man's nudity but also because she knew what was expected of her. He was her victim. He would be at her mercy. And all the while Alastair would be watching. Swiftly, the girl looked back, unwilling to let Alastair find the chinks in her suit of armour, the cracks in her façade. She had to do this, there was no other choice and if she didn't then she would replace the man at the Altar and the whole putrid process would start over.

For the moment, Rachel ignored Alastair as he moved to the side of the room and floated in her peripherals. She took a few tentative steps forward and studied her soon-to-be victim. She wondered what he had done to deserve the inquisitor's lair. A lump formed in her throat as she imagined an array of mistakes that would land an innocent man in Hell.

After a few moments more Rachel stopped herself, her grip on the hilt of the knife tightening in resolve.

"What did he do?" She croaked, turning to Alastair who was watching her with a gaze that was all anticipation and pride.

The demon gave a smile in response and appeared at her side, whispering into her ear.

Rachel's eyes narrowed and she fought the urge to run at the man, knife drawn, a battle cry in her throat. Instead, Rachel took dutiful, graceful steps towards the captive, surveying him with narrowed quickly misting eyes.

She brought her free hand up and cracked it across his right cheek. The man awoke with a start, feeling the slither of blood down his cheek. Rachel caught a glimpse of silver around her finger, she hadn't realised the ring was still there. The girl stared at the bloodied metal as blood trickled across her palm and down her wrist, turning back hesitantly to see the result of her attack.

The man now sported an angry gash across his cheek, carved out by the simple band. His eyes were frantic and he threatened to drift into unconsciousness, but every time his eyelids sagged and his breathing grew shallow, Alastair grinned, clicked his fingers and the man started back into waking.

Rachel took a deep breath, taking the man's chin in her free hand. She tried to think of something witty to say to him, something ridiculing and cruel, but nothing came. Instead, she shook her head menacingly and dug the knife into the man's side.

He spluttered, coughed and gurgled. Rachel didn't flinch as blood and saliva collected on her face and in her hair. She wrenched out the jagged blade, ridding it of any stray chunks of flesh and blood with a short sharp flick of the wrist.

With an evil smile, Rachel began again, this time she dug the knife into the crook of the man's elbow, twisting and rolling the blade in an attempt to severe whatever tendons and muscles lurked beneath his rapidly paling flesh.

Alastair clicked his fingers again and appeared behind his protégé. Rachel felt his guiding hands on her shoulders, but she didn't look away. Her eyes were fixed solely on the panicked hazel eyes of the man.

Rachel only tore her gaze away from him when she felt Alastair's grip on her shoulders tighten. She shot him a sideways glance and took in a bewildered, almost frantic expression on the demon's face.

"What's wrong?" Rachel croaked, subconsciously, "Did I do something wrong?" Inwardly, she grimaced, noticing the unwelcome tremor in her voice.

Alastair seemed to be ignoring her. His gazed shifted erratically around the small room as if he were looking for something. His grip loosened and the demon moved into the centre of the room, pivoting slowly on his heel, combing the walls with his intense glare.

The man on the altar spluttered and fainted in shock, the pain from the wounds in his elbow and stomach overwhelming him. But this time, Alastair made no attempt to revive him.

Rachel took a tentative step forward and reached an uncertain hand out to the bewildered demon.

"Alastair? Is everything-"

Rachel's breath caught in her throat and put an end to her question. Alastair had spun around with inhuman speed, striking her a blow to the face with his left hand. Rachel overbalanced at the impact and she crumpled to the floor. For a moment or two she merely sat, silent and trembling, clutching the now bruising cheekbone in an attempt to stay the throbbing pain there. She frowned. Her mind swam. Had she done something wrong? Was she bound for the altar again? What was there to be angry about, she had done everything he had asked, right?

Alastair's restless gaze slowed and came to rest on her. The demon narrowed his eyes and knelt down to Rachel's level. She flinched away momentarily but he clawed at her chin and held her focus. The girl saw rage and fear in Alastair's eyes and wondered why.

"Why are you here, Rachel?" Alastair spoke in a jagged whisper and continued to search her eyes for an answer. His grip on her chin tightened a little and Rachel winced. "You're not as special as I thought…" The demon concluded, releasing her and moving to stand. He folded his arms and placed a forefinger on his chin as if deep in thought. Every once in a while his eyes would narrow in Rachel's direction, but he said nothing.

Eventually, the demon heaved a sigh and clicked his fingers.

Rachel blinked in an attempt to acclimatise her eyes to the sudden change in lighting. The room had grown darker and she knew, without even having to squint into the darkness that she was where they sent her to sleep. She was unbound, which she was glad of, but there was still cold, hard floor and darkness. Nothing more.

The girl wondered how long she had been in the other room with Alastair. Had it been a whole day or merely a few hours?

Rachel knew that it was time to sleep, or rather she had been placed here because they wanted her to sleep, but she didn't feel like it…She had to know what had happened back in the other room and she just had to figured out what consequences that little episode bore for her.

Rachel tried to stem the flow of tears as the prospect of more sessions for her on Alastair's altar loomed.


	5. The Edge Of The Map

**_Well here it is, Chapter Five. Another one a long time coming, I know and for that I am sorry. Hopefully, there are still some people who have not given up on me just yet. Hopefully, the next chapter will be up soon and that's when things start to get interesting. Enjoy!_****It cuts like an Archangel's Blade.**

I do not own Supernatural even though my life would be so perfect if I did…

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**Chapter Five.**

Castiel was leaning against the screen that separated the dining area from the Sleeping area of the motel room (as had become his habit in the short while he had been tagging along with Sam and Dean). He faced away from the Winchesters, arms folded, expression deadpan and brooding.

Sam sat at the small dining table, his laptop settled directly in front of him. There were two ancient looking tomes, laying open to his right and the younger Winchester Occasionally glanced to them before returning his attention to the computer screen. Often, this was accompanied by a sigh or a roll of his eyes as the books failed to yield any useful information.

Dean approached the table, unfolding a large map as he did so. He had asked for a fairly local one but he hadn't faired well. The map did cover the town they were currently in, but unfortunately it also covered a large area around the town. It was intended for tourists-that point made perfectly clear by the 'points of interest' markers littering the area. Dean shook his head a little; It wasn't brilliant and it probably wouldn't help them much but, at the moment it was the best they had and they would have to make do.

Dean gave another shake of his head, flattening the map across the tiny space that wasn't occupied by Sam's laptop or books. The older Winchester turned to Castiel with a question burning on his lips.

"So, what do we need the map for, Cas?"

Castiel turned to him slowly, resigning himself to the fact that as long as there were still questions to be asked, the Winchester brothers would continue to ask them. A part of Castiel was grateful for this; figuring this whole thing out on his own would be one gargantuan task and Sam and Dean's questions often lead him to new avenues of thought that he, otherwise, might not have considered. However, there was a slightly bigger part of the angel that wished they would stop trying to help and just be quiet so that he could think.

"I don't think that the dream was, in fact, a dream." The angel began, before being cut off by a sarcastic Dean.

"Wow, Cas. You're really going to stick with the blindingly obvious?"

"What I mean to say is that I think it was more of a message. A vision. Maybe I'm supposed to save this girl…Maybe she prayed for me…" Castiel's voice trailed off, his brow creasing a little. This just added to the weight of responsibility he was already bearing and he didn't much care for it.

Sam looked up from his laptop, turning slightly towards his brother and the angel,

"That makes sense." He stated matter-of-factly, "Admittedly, there isn't an awful lot of viable lore on Angels, but none of the stuff that is there says anything about them being able to dream."

Castiel bristled, he had already told the brothers that Angels didn't dream so Sam's last comment had been utterly superfluous. Nevertheless, he allowed the younger Winchester to continue.

"But we have come across the whole 'angel radio' thing before." He offered with a submissive shrug of his shoulders as his eyes found the floor. He knew it sounded stupid but right now, it was all he could think of.

Dean scoffed a little, "So, you're saying that Cas is intercepting these 'radio waves', despite his being cut off from heaven?"

Sam gave a shrug of his shoulders. "Could be. I mean, is there a better explanation?" He looked to Castiel, pleadingly, hoping the angel could offer something more. Castiel felt Sam's eyes on him and gave a slow nod for his sake. His eyes were intensely thoughtful as he turned to the younger brother.

"It might be possible." He concluded.

Dean waited a few seconds for Castiel to elaborate and rolled his eyes when nothing came.

"So if it was a vision you got whilst tuned into 'Angel FM' then what does it mean?"

"I don't know, exactly..." The angel offered, his dusty voice monotonic and serious, "The girl in the vision knew who I was…so I'm guessing the prayer was intended for me…But after I rebelled they would have replaced me with another angel to carry out my work. It doesn't make sense that I should have gotten the prayer, at all."

For a moment or two everything was silent. The Winchesters stopped their questions and Castiel was deep in thought about the whole situation.

Then a thought crossed Dean's mind as he realised the angel hadn't really explained what the map was for at all.

"And the map?" The older Winchester coaxed.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Castiel's azure eyes, "So I can find the girl."

Dean nodded as if he understood perfectly, but after a second or two he stopped and his brow creased in confusion.

Sam seemed to be asking himself the same question and he fixed Castiel with a quizzical expression.

Castiel sighed resignedly and his eyes found the floor sheepishly. He was still testing the waters a little when it came to his powers. Since rebelling against his orders, the angel had found that some of his powers did not work. He felt useless without them but the worst part of the whole thing was that he still had no idea how many of his previous powers worked now and how many did not. He couldn't kill demons with a single touch anymore, he couldn't heal people and the powers he were still able to utilise seemed to take a lot more out of him than they had previously. He should have been able to sense the girl's whereabouts and this instilled a sense of uncertainty in the angel. The thought had crossed his mind before, that the longer he spent away from heaven, the weaker his remaining powers would become. This was an unwelcome thought and he hoped with all his heart that there was some other explanation and that this was not the case.

After what seemed like an age to the Winchester brothers, Castiel broke from his train of thought and elaborated on his answer.

"I am…unable to sense her…I cannot tell where she is." The angel offered eventually, watching as Sam and Dean gave the same serious and realising expressions. He gave another sigh and his eyes flicked upwards to meet Sam's. "If I provide you with a description of the building, could you find it?" He asked.

The left corner of Sam's mouth twitched into his crooked smile and he gave a nod. He slid back round in the plastic chair to face his laptop and began immediately typing away. It felt good to be useful, even if that use was merely finding a building.

"How wide shall I search?" Sam asked, looking up to Castiel with an almost childish desire to please and prove himself glinting in his eyes.

It was Dean who answered, his voice floating up from behind the laptop as he leant forward over the map, placing his weight on his arms and staring intently at the chart.

"Give it about three or four miles from the edge of town in all directions." He looked over the computer screen and gave an almost unnoticeable shrug of his shoulders, "Should be enough."

Sam nodded in his brother's direction, but then turned back to the angel.

"Cas?"

"That should be sufficient." Castiel agreed, with a confident nod.

The younger Winchester turned his attention back to the laptop.

"Now what did the building look like?" he asked, fingers hovering anxiously over the keyboard.

"It was a warehouse or an old factory building." Castiel offered.

When nothing else was said by the angel both Winchesters looked to him expectantly, silently coaxing him for more information.

Castiel noticed their expressions and his brow creased a little.

"Er…It was empty." he said at last.

Sam gave a disbelieving laugh and Dean rolled his eyes.

* * *

Darkness had fallen by the time Sam's search yielded anything of any significance. Castiel had managed to provide a half-decent description of the building and within minutes Sam had found a list of all the abandoned warehouse or factory buildings in and around the town. After that, it had been a case of trying to find images of all of them and seeing whether Castiel recognised any of them-not so simple a task when the angel seemed unhelpfully indecisive when it came to picking out any unusual or notable features.

Sam pulled up the three remaining windows on the PC and gave a searching sideways glance to Castiel who was leaning forward beside him, his right hand gripping the back of Sam's chair, his left the table's edge and his eyes staring intently at the photos of the three remaining buildings.

Sam watched the angel's eye flitter from one window to the other, but at no point did he register a change of expression.

Dean had watched the search for the first half hour or so and had tried to help as much as he could, but he had run out of questions to ask and marks to make on the map. He had gotten bored and was now sitting atop the bed he had claimed for the while they were in town, a quickly emptying beer bottle in one hand and the remote control in the other. He flicked irritably through the meagre selection of channels, the volume down low so as to not disturb his brother or the angel.

After a painfully long while of silence Castiel pointed to one of the pictures on the computer screen. Sam's heart skipped a beat but sunk a little as the angel spoke.

"That is not the building." He stated flatly, withdrawing his hand and moving to stand. Castiel turned away from the laptop and Sam heaved a perturbed sigh.

"So which one is it, Cas?"

Castiel gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, "It is difficult to say for sure." He offered.

Dean flicked off the TV set, placed the empty beer bottle on the bedside table and walked over to his younger brother. He stared at the computer screen for a moment or two before shaking his head a little and turning to Castiel.

"In that case, we'll check them both out." He said triumphantly, shooting the angel a self-satisfied smile.

"We?" Castiel ventured, his brow furrowing.

Dean's smile faded, "Of course 'we'." He stated indignantly, "We're hardly going to let you check this out on your own."

"It could be a trap, Cas." Sam agreed, turning away from the laptop.

Castiel's eyes narrowed involuntarily, "It is too dangerous."

"Exactly." Retorted the Winchesters in unison.

Sam heaved a sigh and stood from his chair, approaching Castiel and fixing him with a pleading expression, "Look, Cas, you're not even supposed to be able to dream and you shouldn't even be receiving prayers…" The younger Winchester let the point hang in the air, not wishing to remind the angel of what he couldn't do now he was cut-off from heaven. After a second he continued, "…Which means that there is definitely something wrong here. It could be a trap, who knows? But the point is, you're not going without us."

"And don't even think of zapping off, Cas, we'll just follow you." Dean added.

The angel stood still and silent for a few moments, eyes flitting between the brothers. In the end, he sighed resignedly and merely offered a 'very well'.

Castiel approached the laptop again and studied the images intently. He nodded to the one on the left, "I think we should start there. That one looks the most familiar."

Sam followed Castiel over to the table and reached over the computer for the map. He took up the pen that Dean had used to make marks on it and circled the two points that coincided with the address of the two remaining buildings. When he was certain the information was correct he closed the laptop and stood, folding up the map. Dean crossed the room, gathering up his jacket and the keys to the Impala as he did so.

Castiel watched him, his brow threatening to furrow again, "Dean, what are you doing?"

Dean didn't need to make any remark, the look on his face echoed his exact sentiments. He regarded the angel with a what-do-you-think-I'm-doing glare.

"It would not be wise to take the Impala; The girl's captives would hear it coming."

The older Winchester's face fell solemn and he gave a nod that said the angel was right.

"Gather any weapons you think you may need and I will transport us there." Castiel instructed, giving a resolved nod of the head.

All at once the boys began to stuff weapons and provisions into bags and within ten minutes they were both ready. They approached the angel who was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting patiently.

"Are you ready?" Castiel asked, receiving simultaneous nods from Sam and Dean.

Then, giving a nod of his own, Castiel unclasped his hands and reached out to each Winchester's forehead with two fingers. The boys closed their eyes, involuntarily, as they felt their surroundings change around them.


	6. Follow You

**_A bit of a filler this one, but hey enjoy. The next chapter is going to be a) longer and b) more interesting (Castiel meets the girl of his dreams lol). Anyway, enjoy this one and I promise that I will work extra hard on the next chapter. It's going to be soooo cool. _****It cuts like and Archangel's Blade.**

* * *

_I do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean, Castiel, Alastair or any of the Supernatural characters I may mention or use in this fan fiction. But hey, one can dream…_

**Chapter Six: Follow You.**

Dean took a moment to acclimatise to the change in temperature around him before he tentatively opened his eyes. He was sure he would never get used to travelling by angel.

The older Winchester instinctively surveyed his surroundings and found that there was enough light afforded by the moon and a few street lights a little way off for him to realised the forms of his brother and Castiel. Looking up, Dean found that the trio had ended up round the back of an abandoned factory building. The building sat on the corner of a crossroads made up of other buildings much like the one they were investigating. A shiver ran down Dean's spine, remembering all the trouble they had had with crossroads in the past. A few of the buildings looked occupied and still functional and, from what the older Winchester could make out, most of them were used for little more than storage.

Dean could tell they had ended up at the back of the building by the lack of doors and windows and the pock marking of long dormant exhaust vents.

He gave a short laugh as Sam shook himself free of the after-effects of the journey and was all at once glad that he had had a little more experience with this particular mode of transport than his younger brother.

Castiel took a few carefully calculated steps forward so that he was out of reach of the boys. For a long while, the angel stood absolutely still, eyes fixed on the building before them. There were no lights on and no electrical humming to suggest the power was on, but this was not unusual. After all, the aim of the kidnappers would be to attract as little attention as possible until absolutely necessary. At least, this was the thought process Castiel hoped the Winchester brothers would be employing.

"It is difficult to say whereabouts the girl is being held." Castiel began as he turned to the brothers, remembering the disorientation he had felt during the dream, "I have no idea which floor she will be on. So we will have to search the entire building."

Castiel watched as the Winchesters nodded. Dean fished around in his bag and retrieved from it his COLT 1911 A1 .45 hand gun and a flashlight. Castiel registered a smile twitching at Dean's lips as the nickel-plating on the pistol glinted in what little light was afforded them.

Sam mimicked Dean's actions almost exactly, but instead of a pistol or gun he pulled Ruby's knife from his own bag.

"Let's go." Dean stated, taking charge since the angel made no move to.

The older Winchester walked past Castiel and Sam and made his way closer to the building, picking out the edge of a decaying wooden door. He approached it carefully, taking in the shape of a keyhole just below the thick lever handle.

"Sam." He hissed, keeping his voice low.

After a second, Sam appeared at his shoulder, twirling a lock pick in his right hand. The younger Winchester leant forward and felt around for the keyhole.

"Could I maybe get some light, Dean?" He asked, turning round to his brother and giving a sarcastic smile. Dean gave an innocent shrug of his shoulders, flicked on his flashlight and aimed the beam at the key hole.

"Thank you." Sam whispered as he turned his attention back to the door. He inserted the lock pick and a series of barely audible clicks followed. This was the case until a slightly louder click broke around them and the door edged open an inch or so.

Sam stowed the pick in his jeans pocket and stepped back to let Dean go through first. He watched his brother step over the threshold, the light from his torch casting a dusty beam along the corridor the open door had revealed.

Dean's brow furrowed. If this really was a kidnapping why would the kidnapper have let them enter the building so easily? There were no traps and the door had opened too easily. Nevertheless he continued forth, careful to check the floor for tripwires and the like.

Sam was the second one to enter the building, his own flashlight throwing another beam of light into the mix.

"So, Cas, you have any idea what we're dealing with, here?" Sam asked.

Castiel gave an unseen shake of his head, "No…Humans probably, but I cannot be sure."

Sam's brow creased and he turned back towards the door. Castiel's voice had sounded too far away and, in turning towards him, Sam figured out why; Castiel hadn't even entered the building. The angel stood beyond the doorframe, bathed in the yellowish light afforded by the street lamps' glow.

Dean took note of the sudden lack of footsteps behind him. He pivoted on his heel to see his brother standing still a little way away from him, his gaze fixed solely on Castiel who seemed reluctant to set foot inside the warehouse.

The Winchester brothers realised the exact same thing at the exact same moment; The angel had tricked them. This was not the right building at all. Castiel had brought them here to get them out of the way whilst he went to investigate the right one. That was why he had vetoed taking the Impala.

The brothers launched themselves at the door, but did not reach it in time. The wood threatened to crack with the force it slammed shut. Sam reached the door first and hammered his fists against it. Dean launched a foot at the portal as soon as he was close enough.

"Cas!" Dean shouted.

"I'm sorry." Castiel's voice floated through the wood, quiet but still audible.

Sam ceased his attack on the door, fishing around in his pocket for the pick he had used earlier.

He heaved an angry sigh, sliding the thin piece of metal into the lock, "Cas, this is stupid! Let us help you." The younger Winchester pleaded.

On the other side of the door, Castiel shook his head at the boys' attempt to break down the door. His attention snapped to the keyhole as he noticed the consistent clicking that was coming from the lock. The angel placed a calm and purposeful palm against the circular piece of metal and listened as a snapping sound emanated from it. He heard an angry sigh from Sam and then decided he had spent enough time here.

Sam heaved a sigh in frustration as he felt pressure on the lock pick. He snatched it from the keyhole only to find it twisted and broken. His hand flew to the door handle and he rattled it in frustration only to have it break off in his hand. A dull thud came from the other side of the door, suggesting the other side of the lever had detached itself from the wood as well.

"Cas!" He yelled to no avail. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the sound of fluttering wings from beyond the portal.

Sam straightened up and flung the useless lock pick and the broken handle down the corridor, listening to the satisfying metal clanging that followed. Sam walked a few paces away from Dean, placing his hands behind his head.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Dean yelled into the wood, launching another kick at the door for good measure.

"What now?" Sam sighed, resignedly.

"I'll tell you 'what now'…" Dean growled, turning to Sam with an expression that was pure rage, "We're gonna get the hell outta here, track Cas down, make sure he's safe and then…" The older Winchester marched past Sam, dutifully. Sam began to follow, "And then I'm going to kill him."


	7. Because That's Just What It Is

**__****Ok this one was fun to write so I hope you enjoy it. It's also quite long so it should keep you satiated for a while at least. I don't know when the next chapter is going to be ready for you, am kinda working on some more Rachel flashbacks and this, of course, means more Alastair (YAY!). lol Anyway, enjoy and don't forget to tell me what you think by way of a review *hint hint* Lol**

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Super-Supernatural characters I may use here. _**It Cuts Like an Archangel's Blade.**

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**Chapter Seven: Because That's Just What It Is.**

The right building stood on its own, devoid of any accompanying warehouses or factories. Castiel blinked through the darkness. Despite the lack of light in the area, the angel could still pick out a good few features and for a moment or two he stood staring upwards, his gaze slowly scanning across from one side of the build to the other. It seemed to be the focal point of a piece of wasteland. Castiel assumed the warehouse had been abandoned for a great many years; the concreted forecourt was almost indistinguishable beneath a carpet of weeds and wildflowers. Patches of tall, sharp grass grew closer to the sides of the structure and any cracks in the walls had been occupied by mosses and fungi. There was no light in any of the visible windows and Castiel only hoped the girl's captors were purposefully keeping the lights off in an attempt to hide and not that he was merely too late.

As soon as he was sure the building was indeed the right one, the angel vanished and appeared silently in a corridor. It was exactly the one he had been aiming for; the graffiti was there, on the thin walls, and so was the rust. The smell of damp rose to Castiel's nostrils and, as he took a step forward, his foot made contact with the floor. He could feel it. It was real now. This was no longer a dream.

The angel tried to remember where the girl was being held. He set off down the corridor to his left, all the while expecting a scream to echo around him. His heart sank a little with every step as the stagnant air remained still and silent.

Castiel continued forward until he came to a door he recognised. He peered cautiously around the frame. There was no light from any window and no light from an open door across the room, but there was movement. It lasted no more than a second but Castiel picked up on it in his peripherals.

The angel rounded the door jamb and made his way over to where he had seen the movement. It was there he found the girl.

He stared at her for what felt like an age, his eyes struggling against the pitch blackness of the room. After a while though, he became acclimatised to the lack of illumination and found he could pick out the form of a young woman, perhaps about 24 years of age. She was slumped forward in the chair she was bound to, a thick, sticky substance dripping from her mouth.

Castiel twisted his head to look at the girl's neck. Apart from the lack of crucifix, the girl looked just as Castiel had seen here in his vision.

The angel cleared his throat and the girl's head snapped upwards to meet his gaze as if she had know he was there all along, but had been trying to ignore him. Castiel crouched down so that he was at eye level with her.

"Please, don't hurt me." The captive breathed, shrinking away from him a little.

Castiel shot the girl a pitying smile, "I am not going to hurt you…" The angel began, reaching forward for the girl's restraints, his eyes flicking towards the vicinity of the as-of-yet unseen door every few seconds. He remembered the brute that had charged through the portal and he remembered the way the girl had whimpered as he approached. He was not going to even give him the chance to harm her this time.

"I am here to help you." Castiel was careful to keep his voice soft and low, lest anyone hear him. His eyes found the girl's and she smiled to him gratefully.

"Thank you…Castiel." she whispered.

The girl winced as Castiel accidentally brushed the coarse rope bindings against criss-crossing, bloody welts and fissures on her arms.

"I'm sorry." Castiel offered as he unfastened the last rope and placed gentle hands on her shoulders, "But I need to get you out of here as quickly as possible." The angel stood, slowly and held out a hand for the girl. "Can you walk?" He asked, eyes narrowing in scrutiny of the broken and beaten creature. He watched as she shook her head. His brow creased pityingly and he stooped, lifting the trembling form into his arms. She draped two weak arms around his shoulders and leant into his chest.

"What is your name?" Castiel ventured, trying to distract the girl from the twitching of the door handle he had just seen.

The girl tensed a little, whether it was a reaction to his question or whether she had seen the door lever, Castiel didn't know. He fixed his eyes on the door through which he had entered and began to cross the room.

It took what felt like an age for the girl to answer him. Castiel had almost reached the door when she spoke.

"Rachel." She stated, in a voice that was too weak and tired.

Castiel gave a nod and smiled to her. He was about to step over the threshold when he registered a change of light in the room and the sound of a creaking door. He also took note of Rachel's tightened grip around his neck as the steady thumping of footsteps echoed around them.

Castiel found himself pivoting towards the noise, in a bid to find it's origin. To his surprise there was no man marching towards them. The rectangle of light was there but there were no shadows cast by it.

The footsteps grew louder and Rachel's grip tightened again. She was getting frantic now, he could feel it. The girl was digging her fingers nails into the back of his long coat, threatening to tear fabric. She began to whimper again. Castiel ignored her for the moment, his eyes flitting around the room, trying to find the man he was sure was coming after them. There was nothing. Only the sound of the footsteps and Rachel's terrified sobbing.

Castiel was pivoting frantically, combing the darkness for any signs of movement.

The angel tried to vanish but found he could not. He tried again, but to no avail.

A cold fear gripped him as he failed to understand exactly what was going on.

Rachel's trembling hand on his cheek made Castiel jump and he looked down to her, brow creased in concern and confusion.

Rachel's expression turned malicious. A toothy, blood-stained smile held his focus. The girl's hand became steadier and a tingly, warm sensation pulsed from her palm.

"What are you doing?" Castiel hissed, fear lacing itself into his voice.

Rachel's smiled widened. Castiel grimaced involuntarily. The heat grew, a white light hummed in the corner of his eye. The angel tried to move but found himself paralysed. He could only stare down at the girl in his arms, shock and rage and betrayal fighting for pride of place in his azure eyes.

Rachel gave a short menacing laugh and then she leant in closer to Castiel.

She closed her eyes and leant into him again, sliding her hand down his cheek and laying it to rest on the angel's chest, directly over his heart.

"Thank you for saving me, _Castiel_." She mewed in a voice that could have been mistaken for that of an innocent child's had it not been for the last part. The girl had spat the angel's name with pure contempt and disgust.

Her expression turned sour as she opened her eyes and looked to him. Her eyes narrowed and the heat beneath her hand intensified. It burned white hot and this pain was only made worse by the return of the migraine. Castiel fought the urge to cry out as white spots prickled and grew in his vision. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught until eventually the pain was too much. The scorching, throbbing, head-splitting pain was overwhelming him. His heart spluttered under the girls touch and he found he was unable to breath properly. Castiel could feel his consciousness ebbing away, but before he let it take him completely he spared himself one tiny self-pitying thought…

Sam and Dean had been right.

* * *

Castiel awoke to the sound of a blade being sharpened. He looked around and found himself in a dark room. Again, despite the lack of light, Castiel picked up on the outline of someone standing across from him. He could also trace the outline of a table, foreign shapes littering its surface.

The angel tried to move, but found he could not. A thick strap was pressing back against his torso, the leather an unwelcome sensation against his bare flesh. He could feel other straps against his legs, arms and hips and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't move.

His brow creased. This didn't make sense; he was an angel, no mere restraint could hold him so why couldn't he move?

After a few seconds thought, Castiel's focus was broken as the metallic scraping ceased and the figure at the table put down the blade and took up another. The teeth-gritting screech emanated around the room again. The angel squinted into the pitch black before him.

"Rachel?" Castiel ventured.

Rachel started at the voice and moved to lay the second blade and the wet stone she had been sharpening it with, down on the table's surface. Then she spoke. Her voice was slow and calm, a huge contrast to the voice she had used when Castiel found her.

"Castiel. You're awake; good."

Rachel twisted her body a little, pulling something small and square from her pocket. Castiel watched as she broke a match from the book now in her hands and tossed it nonchalantly to her side. All at once, a curved line of fire ignited before the girl. The line arched round and Castiel watched with widened eyes as the flame slithered round behind him. He tried to angle his head to see better but stopped himself when he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head.

The angel turned his attention forward and saw Rachel facing him, a menacing smile on her lips as she leant back against the table, hands gripping the edge of it. Castiel couldn't see what was behind her and he found he was a little glad of this. On the table to Rachel's left stood three ancient looking terracotta urns and as Castiel's gaze found the floor he noticed an array of damp sigils etched on the floor between him and the girl.

Rachel blinked slowly and gave a triumphant smile.

"I'm going to assume you understand most of those." She asked, tilting her head to one side and gesturing to the symbols with a vague wave of her left hand. Castiel stared ahead, silent and ignorant, an expression of defiance painted on his face.

"Oh come on, Castiel. There's no need to be like that…" The girl's expression fell a little and she pouted in mock sadness, "…There's no reason to be rude. I am doing this for _very _good reasons. And, in all honesty, you do deserve it." Rachel's tone was persuasive and coaxing but Castiel was determined to remain steadfast and silent.

There was little or nothing this girl could do to him that would hurt him. He was an angel-albeit an angel cut-off from heaven-but, still an angel. And the sooner the girl realised that then the sooner this would all be over. Castiel repeated this over in his mind, confident that he was right about the whole situation.

Rachel gave up on her pouting and turned her back on him. She let her hands hover back and forth over the array of objects on the table top as if she were casting some sort of spell. A smile played at her lips.

"You do understand the concept of revenge, don't you, Castiel?" Rachel's voice floated over to him in a tone that was eerily friendly. The girl did not turned back to the angel for a long while and seemed un-phased by his lack of response.

" I know what you're thinking," Rachel began, turning slowly on her heel, scooping up a small unassuming dagger as she did so. She ran a fingertip along the blade and down the ancient wooden hilt. She had a look on her face that was pure pride. "You think that torture is out of the question for you since you are an angel…"

The girl stepped slowly and gracefully across the room, stepping over the billowing florid line of the circle as if it were no more than a trickling stream. She approached her captive angel and held the dagger up so that Castiel could take in the unique lustre of the blade and the slightly herby aroma of the handle. She smiled, her eyes fixed on the knife as if it were the most beautiful thing in the universe.

She took another step forward, pressing herself up against the trapped angel, the blade creeping towards Castiel's right cheek.

Castiel strained to take in every detail of the dagger and realised, with a sinking feeling, what it was. Rachel's smile widened to its limit as she drank in the Angel's realisation.

"You _were_ thinking that I can harm your vessel but your true form will remain unharmed, weren't you? You now realise how wrong you were, don't you? Castiel?" The girl's expression fell a little, "Castiel. I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you answer me…" There was a ridiculing tone in the girl's silvery voice now.

Rachel waited for a second and then when no answer came she dug the first millimetre of the dagger into Castiel's cheek and dragged it downwards. The angel winced and shut his eyes against the pain.

Rachel's eye narrowed in delicious satisfaction as a divine light shone for a second or two from the gash that now spilled blood down the side of Castiel's face.

Castiel swallowed hard, "How is that possible?" He asked, fixing Rachel with an expression of anger and confidence that should not have been there, "You cannot wield Enochian weaponry unless-"

"Unless you possess the grace of an angel?" Rachel interrupted. She took a step backwards and dug around beneath the collar of her hoody. She eventually found a white gold chain and tugged at it. After a second or two a large circular pendant slither out from beneath the neck line and the girl held it up for her newest victim to see, regarding it with the same expression she had afforded the dagger.

The pendant seemed little more than a glass bubble framed in an intricate design of white gold vines. The glass bubble shimmered and glowed with a spectrum of swirling fluid.

Rachel gave a short shrug of her shoulders, "Actually…I have the grace of six angels."

* * *

**_Curious yet? I know I am. _**

**_How did Rachel get hold of the grace of six angels, in the first place? All these questions answered-and more-in upcoming chapters...Hopefully..._**

**_Ooh aren't I cruel...*Evil smile*_**


	8. Smoke and Mirrors

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I may mention in this Fanfiction and I probably never will. I say probably…Mwa ha ha ha ha!_

_**A little bit of a venture into Rachel's past again...Hope you're not disappointed. I know it's a bit long but it was quite fun to write so I'm happy. Anyway, reviews are love and I'm starved of them at the moment...**_

* * *

**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Eight: Smoke and Mirrors.**

Rachel's breath hitched in her throat and her eyes snapped open at the sudden change in lighting around her. She rose unsteadily from the floor, shielding her eyes from the bright light and squinting into it.

Her surroundings had changed, but she wasn't surprised; the constantly changing environment was the norm down here. They, or rather _he_, had the power to pluck her out of wherever she was and place her somewhere new without any thought about what she wanted.

Rachel waited for a few seconds for her eyes to become accustomed to the light and for the blinding white to become more of a glowing yellow.

Hesitantly she looked around. The room she was in was one of the most peculiar she had ever seen in this place and this was largely given to the fact it looked surprisingly normal. The walls were clean and painted a solid terracotta colour. A square dark wood table held pride of place in the centre of the room and at either end of the table was positioned a chair that was made of the same wood. Beneath her feet, extending underneath the table was a Persian rug, intricately patterned in an array of earthy colours.

Rachel's brow furrowed and she pivoted slowly on her heel, taking in the other furniture that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. A wide bookcase, almost full to bursting with leather-bound tomes, was pushed against the wall behind one of the chairs and to each side of the book case hung a framed picture. The one on the left was a photograph she had taken on her last holiday, a trip to India she had taken with a few of her girl friends. It depicted a beach scene at dusk. The other frame held a painting. It was abstract and Rachel had never understood quite what it was supposed to represent, but she liked it and it went with the colour scheme of the room.

A chill trickled down Rachel's spine as she realised where she was. This was_ her_ dining room and everything was exactly how she had left it. Even down to the duster she had accidentally leftt behind the glass of the corner display cabinet.

She wandered, absent-mindedly, over to the side-table that she was sure hadn't been there a moment ago and pressed the play button on the small hi-fi system that was perched atop it. The melancholy tones of I Can't Change It by Frankie Miller echoed around her.

_Apt. _She thought with a sad sigh.

Suddenly, she felt the presence of someone behind her and turned to face them. She jumped slightly at the proximity of the new arrival.

Rachel squinted to him, wondering whether she was actually seeing what she thought she was. Behind he,r stood Dan, her on again, off again boyfriend who lived just across the street from her.

Dan was mere centimetres away from her and his hazel eyes focused on the Hi-fi behind her. His tanned skin complemented his cropped black hair and his muscular frame strained for release under the tight black tee he wore. Dan's outfit was finished with a pair of baggy jeans and dark brown hiking boots. After a few seconds of scrutinising the sound system he turned his attention to Rachel and raised an eyebrow, giving a teasing smile as he did so.

"Bit depressing, Rach? What ever happened to The Killers?" Dan mused, turning away from her and taking a seat at the table. He looked around him calmly and with a sort of nonchalant scrutiny.

Rachel's head was swimming; she didn't understand what was going on. Was this just another one of Alastair's tricks or was it real? Was she really standing in her own dining room in her own house?

Rachel wanted to believe it was true, that they had taken pity on her and sent her home, but somehow she doubted that.

Dan stopped looking around him and focused on Rachel who took a tentative step forward, a bewildered expression painted on her face.

"What's wrong, babe?" Dan offered, his face turning a little more serious.

Rachel took a moment to process the words before answering. He sounded the same as she remembered; he had even called her 'babe' in the way she hated, just to annoy her and provoke a reaction.

"Is that really you, Dan?" She ventured, her voice soft and timid.

"Course it's me. Who else is it going to be?" Dan's expression matched hers now, a concoction of confusion, fear and disbelief.

Rachel shook her head a little, "It can't be." She squeaked, tears burning at her eyes.

"It is. It's me." Dan coaxed, getting up and crossing the room to her. He wrapped his arms around the girl, almost burying her in his muscular mass. Rachel gingerly snaked her arms around his waist and tucked her hands underneath his tee-shirt. She slid her fingers down his spine and savoured the ripple of the bones beneath his skin. Her searching fingers found out the small scar to the left of his spine, in the small of his back. As she ran the tip of her forefinger along it he flinched a little and with this small action Rachel let the tears at her eyes fall.

Everything felt so real, it just had to be. This was too intense for a dream.

"I'm sorry. I-It's just that-"

"Shhh. It's Ok."

Rachel allowed herself to relax a little, folding her body into him, savouring the warmth she found there. She lay her head on his chest and closed her eyes against Dan's steady breathing.

For moments the pair remained like this, until Dan sighed and pulled out of the embrace. He took a few steps away from her and brushed himself off.

"That's more than enough of that." He stated, clearing his throat a little. He resumed his seat at the table, leaving a dazed, tear-stained Rachel standing by the side table.

Her tears fell harder and the sobbing started as Rachel realised what had just happened.

"Alastair." She concluded, sharp intakes of breath permitting her to say little else. The demon at the table-the demon who looked like Dan-spared her a nod and gestured that she should sit down. The hi-fi turned itself off at a single look of annoyance from Alastair.

Not knowing what other options were afforded her, Rachel stepped slowly over to the empty chair, her vision blurred with tears. Her eyes flicked upwards momentarily, taking in the misty outline of Alastair as he sat opposite, calm and serious. He moved, leaning his forearms on the table and clasping his hands together. He leaned forward in the chair and studied the girl with narrowed eyes.

Rachel wiped away the tears with the sleeve of her hoody, pulled over the back of her hand. She took a breath to steady herself.

Eventually, when she was sure she could handle the situation, she locked eyes with the demon and stared at him with the most menacing expression she could manage.

"You bastard." She hissed, shaking her head and allowing herself a small sniff against more tears, "You fucking bastard."

Alastair raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side a little, "Rachel, think about what just happened. Tell me what your first thought were."

"What?" Rachel replied her brow creasing.

"You _knew_ it couldn't possibly be real. You _knew_ that you were still in the pit and that this was all just another trick." He paused, waiting for Rachel to get what he was trying to explain. In the end he continued with a slight sigh in frustration. "It was a lesson, Rachel." The demon stated bluntly, perturbed at the human's stupidity. "I presented you with a situation you knew couldn't possibly be real and yet you ignored your instincts and chose to believe you were back at home, back _up there_." Absent-mindedly, Alastair's eyes flickered towards the ceiling.

He turned his attention back to Rachel and continued, "And why did you do that?"

Rachel gave an almost unnoticeable shrug of her shoulders.

Alastair sighed again, "Because it made you feel good. It made you feel safe."

The demon leant back in the chair, folding his arms and adopting a nonchalant disposition, "In the end, you all do it; all humans are exactly the same. However, what you fail to realise is, that your downfall lies in the ever-constant desire to want to feel safe and happy. _You_ ended up causing yourself _more pain_ by letting yourself believe that everything was alright."

Rachel's memory shot back to her own sessions with the inquisitor. He never appeared as anyone she didn't know and this made the pain so much worse. One moment she would feel hope that someone she knew and loved would be there, standing by her, maybe even coming to her rescue. But then, the next moment brought pain at the hands of her loved ones as they dug blades into her sides and ripped flesh from her bones.

Realisation dawned. Her expression softened a little. Alastair used who she loved against her…it was part of the torture; A psychological element running alongside the physical.

Alastair gave a patronising smile, "Have you figured it out yet?"

Rachel gave a nod.

"Tell me."

"You're explaining…how torture isn't just…um…"

"Go on." The demon coaxed, unfolding his arms and leaning forward again, eager to hear what Rachel was going to say.

"You're saying that more pain can be inflicted by combining a psychological element with physical harm." Her eyes found the table's surface. She blinked slowly, "You taunt your victims with their loved ones…in order…to lull them into a false sense of security…" Her voice trailed off. She had no more to say. She would end up repeating herself if she continued and she had no idea.

The demon widened his smile and gave a nod, "That's exactly right."

"But I don't understand." Rachel ventured, shifting her gaze towards the let his smiled fade and her raised his eyebrows.

"What don't you understand?"

"I don't understand why you're telling me this…" She watched as Alastair's expression turned quizzical, "I thought I'd done something wrong. I though I was going to be sent back to the…" She couldn't bring herself to say it. The memories were still too fresh, the scars still too tender.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well…before…with the man…you were angry with me and I couldn't understand why."

Alastair gave an understanding nod.

"That was something else, entirely, Rachel." He gave a wave of his hand said nothing for a second or two whilst he inwardly debated whether or not he should say anymore. Eventually he spoke, "Rachel…you were supposed to be special…you were supposed to start something big when you took up the blade and dug it into that man's flesh."

Rachel squirmed a little, not wishing to remember how the man's skin tugged against the edge of the knife, not wishing to remember how much she had actually enjoyed it.

She shrugged these thoughts from her mind, "What do you mean 'something big'?"

Alastair chewed on his lip in thought and then smiled, "You were supposed to break the first seal, my dear." He paused for a moment and then pre-empted the question he could already see coming, "The first of sixty-six seals that must be broken. Rachel, Think of the seals as locks on a door and when we break all the locks the door will open."

Rachel struggled to take in what Alastair was saying. His expression turned dutiful and his smiled widened. The demon's eyes shifted upwards and turned unfocused as if he were in the midst of a day dream.

"The first seal is broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell."

"What do you mean? What is behind the door? Why did you think _I_ could break the seal?" Rachel stopped herself from asking more questions. She did not want to anger Alastair and, even though she didn't really understand what he was saying and wanted to know more, she couldn't risk overstepping her mark.

Alastair chose one question to answer, "Righteous people come along so rarely down here and I thought you were one of them. I thought you were only here because of that silly little deal you made ten years ago."

Rachel felt her brow furrow, but she remained silent, listening to what the demon was saying.

"Turns out you couldn't break the first seal and that means either the whole thing is sexist and that it actually does have to be a man _or…_" The demon's expression was cold and malicious. He waved a finger at her in mock ridicule, "…You've got a dirty little secret you're not telling…"

Involuntarily, Rachel's eyes found the table again and she swallowed. The action only lasted a mere second before she realised it was stupid to have given herself away like that.

"I-I haven't…I mean, I don't-"

She stopped herself at the vague wave of Alastair's hand.

"Rachel, I really have no interest in whatever it is you did to end up here. The fact of the matter is, that you have something of a dark side and it is precisely this I want…"

Rachel gave a slow, thoughtful nod, willing her mind to focus on the here and now rather than what had happened all those years ago.

She knew there was one question she could focus on, now, to distract her from her memories.

"Alastair?"

"Yes?"

"What is behind the door? What exactly happens when the sixty-six seals are broken?"

The demon shook his head, gave something of an evil smile and stood from his chair.

"I will tell you, Rachel, but not now."

Rachel's heart sunk a little.

"Come now, we have work to do."

The demon approached her side, holding out a hand to her.

"I have some things I wish to teach you..."


	9. Waiting For You

_I wish I didn't have to keep writing these disclaimers…But alas…*Deep sigh in frustration* I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I may mention in this Fan Fiction. _

_**Wow, nine chapters and boy is this getting fun to write. Just to warn you, there are probably tonnes of mistakes in this. I should have gone to bed hours ago but deicided to write another chapter to Archangel's Blade, instead. So I'm a little tired. But hey, enjoy it anyway. :)**_

* * *

**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Nine: Waiting For You.**

Sam straightened up and leant on the car door, studying the building they had just pulled up in front of. He squinted against the darkness, but he could pick out the silhouette of the abandoned factory against the night sky. His ability to trace it's outline was only slightly aided by the ancient Buick's headlights.

Sam turned to his left, watching as his brother emerged from the other side of the car. The younger Winchester turned back towards the seat he had previously occupied and gathered up his bag. He walked towards the driver's side window, letting the door swing shut behind him. He leant in, digging around in his jacket pocket.

After a second or two Sam presented a wad of cash to the driver, a middle-aged, unshaven man with small eyes and a wide girth.

The man smiled, gave a nod and accepted Sam's offer. He shrugged and shook his head a little, stowing the money in the pocket of his well-worn jeans.

"I don't know what you boys want with this building…S'been empty for years." The man drawled, receiving a short smile from Sam.

"It's personal." The younger Winchester offered.

The driver shrugged and sighed deeply, throwing up his hands in mock surrender, "Well whatever it is, ain't got nothing to do with me."

Sam pushed away from the door frame with a crooked smile and a small wave as the vehicle began to reverse back down the narrow dirt track. He watched the headlights elongate and turn to red, as the car turned around and then vanished into the darkness.

"Sam!" Dean hissed.

Sam pivoted, tearing his gaze away from the spot the car had been.

Dean was standing a little way off, half turned towards his younger brother but his focus held by the building. Sam moved to stand by Dean's side.

"You sure this is the right building?" Dean queried, shooting his brother a sideways glance.

The younger Winchester gave a nod and reached for the folded map in his jacket pocket. He held it out in front of him and then shrugged his flashlight from his bag. He focused the beam of light and stared at the mess of lines on the paper. He followed one particular line with his eyes until it stopped at a thick circle drawn in black marker pen.

"Yeah, this is definitely it." He concluded. Sam placed the map back in the pocket he had retrieved it from and angled the flashlight directly in front of him. He began to walk forward, listening to the sound of footsteps behind him as Dean followed. A few seconds later, another beam of light cut through the darkness as Dean located his own torch again.

"So, if this is a trap…" Sam began thoughtfully, "Then what are we dealing with? I mean, what is so powerful that it can mess with angels' minds?" Sam didn't have to see the shrug Dean gave as a response to his question.

"Maybe it's not so powerful…"

The older Winchester's voice trailed off as the pair came upon a side door that was slightly ajar and tapping against the door frame occasionally at the infrequent zephyrs.

"What do you mean?"

"Cas isn't the angel he used to be, Sam; he's cut off from heaven, remember? Maybe, whatever it is that set this trap up, is only powerful enough to mess with Cas."

Sam swallowed involuntarily, taking in the positive and negative aspects of Dean's theory. If this adversary was only strong enough to mess with Castiel then there was a better chance of the Winchesters being able to kill it, than if it were powerful enough to gank fully-fledged angels. However, there was no telling what was being planned for Castiel and there was no hint of the motives behind the trap. It could already be too late for the angel.

Dean pulled the door open and stepped tentatively inside. He had armed himself with his gun again and held it out in front of him with both hands whilst balancing the flashlight atop it as he did so.

The torches threw dusty light forth of the pair, criss-crossing occasionally as the brothers thought to search the same corners.

After a short while they came across a corridor with a door opposite the one they had emerged from and a staircase to their left.

Dean turned towards the stairs and ascended the first few before turning back at the lack of footsteps behind him.

"You wanna wait here, Sammy?" He teased, a slightly annoyed tone creeping through.

"Dean." Sam sighed with a shake of his head, "We don't know where Cas is, or even if he's here. But, if you had a prisoner where would you keep them?"

Sam angled his torch towards his brother's face when no response came from him and, as expected, the older Winchester was sporting an innocent smiled and blank, ignorant eyes.

"The basement, Dean." Sam paused and looked around him, "I'm not sure this place will have one, but it wouldn't hurt to check. 'Sides, we're gonna have to search every room if we're going to find Cas."

Dean gave a nod, realising that Sam was right.

"Good thinking, Batman." He smiled impishly, "You go search for the basement and I'll poke around upstairs." With this, Dean turned his back on his brother and made his way up the staircase.

Sam watched the broken shaft of light flicker until it disappeared, rolled his eyes and pushed through the door into the next room.

* * *

It didn't take long for Sam to find the door. The room he had entered into seemed to have once been some sort of refectory. He imagined the factory workers sitting at the warped plastic tables. A canteen style service was set up at the far end of the narrow hall, the glass sneeze-guards grimy and dust-covered from years of disuse, and a pair of thick doors were positioned to the left. Sam assumed that these would lead into the kitchen and, upon further inspection, he found he was right.

The younger Winchester pushed through the heavy doors and squeezed between two brushed steel islands set parallel to one another. Sam took in the industrial sized sink, oven and dishwasher, but ignored these as soon as his gaze fell upon the unassuming door to the back of the room.

Slowly, Sam made his way towards it, passing another island. This one was piled high with kitchen utensils that had seen better days. Unfortunately, Sam failed to realise the pan handle tugging at the hem of his jacket as he sidled past and only noticed the extra pressure when it was already too late to stop the inevitable fall.

The saucepan scraped along the stainless steel work surface, gathering a ridge of dust as it went, before finally overbalancing and falling to the tiled floor with an ear-piercing clatter.

Sam's breath hitched in his throat and he stopped dead, waiting for the room to fall silent again. He grimaced and strained to hear any signs of movement around him. After a few seconds, he permitted himself to breath and move again, satisfied in the knowledge that no one was coming for him.

He continued forward and came upon the door, trying the handle in naïve hopefulness that it wouldn't be locked.

* * *

Dean rolled his eyes as the muffled, but still audible, sound of things being knocked over emanated through the thin floor beneath his feet. He cursed his brother's bulk and baggy jacket, knowing that the din could only have been initiated by Sam.

He gave a sigh and continued forward, faltering for a mere second as he debated whether or not to go back for the younger Winchester.

He decided not to. After all, Sam was acting as a brilliant distraction and this would give him a better opportunity to search for Castiel and a better chance of getting him out of here if whatever it was that wanted the angel was investigating the noise…

* * *

Rachel remained calm as she turned away from Castiel, waiting until the angel could no longer see her face to frown in confusion. She had heard something, a noise that should not have happened. As far as she knew there was only her and the angel in the building, but the noise had come from below, a few floors below, in fact.

She strode over to the table, placing the dagger she had been wielding onto it's surface. Turning back to Castiel she gave a slight smile, taking in the three criss-crossing welts in the angel's right cheek and the panic in Castiel's eyes. He was trying to hide it, but she could see he was scared.

He was scared because he didn't understand. He was scared because she was able to wield Enochian-forged weaponry. But most of all he was scared because she could cause him pain.

Rachel drank in the delicious panic for a second more, before rounding the ring of holy fire and giving Castiel a slight wave.

"I'm just going to step out for a moment, Castiel, but don't worry; I'll be back soon." She treated the angel to her most menacing smile and her hand fell to her side, "After all, there's still so much more I wish to show you."

Castiel watched, bewildered as the girl vanished without a trace.

As soon as the girl was gone Castiel instinctively strained against his bindings, but the leather refused to give in and, instead, pressed him harder into the device he was strapped to. He felt a few lacerations in the small of his back and two more open up at each shoulder blade. Each cut crackled with heat for a moment or two before the pain faded.

Castiel resigned himself to the fact that this was just the beginning. Whatever Rachel was, she knew a lot about angels and how to bind them and Castiel had resigned himself to the fact that this was only the beginning of her plan for him. If Rachel knew how to restrain him and how to cause him pain then she most definitely knew how to kill him, and with the grace of six angels around her neck, Castiel was sure the girl had the means to do so.

Castiel leant forward and stared into the flickering tendrils of his fiery prison. His mind wandered. He now knew how stupid he had been to leave Sam and Dean stranded, to have not accepted their offer of help.

* * *

Rachel appeared at one end of a long corridor and sought out the staircase, descending it silently and swiftly. Her eyes narrowed involuntarily at the pitch black. She sought out another staircase and crouched down by the railings as she noticed a flicker of light below. She listened hard and the sound of footsteps echoed up from the stairs.

Rachel kept watching as the form of Dean Winchester rounded the corner. The light around her was poor but there was enough light thrown onto his face from the flashlight he held, for Rachel to pick out his chiselled features and cropped hair.

He was here to save his precious angel, she was sure of it, and Rachel knew that if Dean Winchester was here then Sam Winchester wouldn't be far behind. Her plan was working out better than she had expected.

_Three for the price of one. _She thought distantly.

For a few seconds, she merely sat, silently watching as the Winchester combed every corner and every crevice. He even paused to gaze from the window as he passed it.

Rachel tilted her head to one side and a smile crept to her lips as a particularly malicious thought sprung to mind.

Rachel vanished just before the beam from Dean's torch sought out the space she had been watching him from.


	10. Threshold

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I include in this here Fanfic._

_**Ok so I've finally written some torture in for Castiel and I threw in a good bit of psychological torture just for good measure. Mwa ha ha ha!**_

_**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**_

_**Chapter Ten: Threshold. **_

Castiel hadn't noticed the door in the wall to his left until it creaked open. He had been lost in his thoughts, self-pity bubbling inside him, fluid and writhing just like the flames that spelled his prison.

Absent-mindedly he looked up, expecting to see Rachel emerge from the portal, but instead, he took in the familiar form of Dean Winchester. There was no denying the thick heavy jacket, hanging on strong shoulders, the chiselled features and determined eyes.

Castiel watched in astonishment, as Dean took a step forward, pushing the door closed behind him. The Winchester seemed reluctant to look at him and Castiel frowned.

"Dean?" He ventured, squinting against the dim light, just to make sure it was, in fact, him.

Dean ignored the angel and stepped slowly but dutifully over to the instruments on the table.

"Dean?" Castiel tried again, this time his tone more frantic, "What are you doing?"

The angel's eyes widened as Dean picked up what appeared to be a syringe. The thick glass tube was framed in a polished metal with a needle made out of the same substance. The Enochian symbols, carved into the frame, captured the amber of the flickering flames.

Castiel swallowed involuntarily as Dean reached back to the table, taking up a small unassuming cantina. He flipped open the cap and slid the needle into the neck of the container. With his focus solely on the instruments in his hands, Dean drew the plunger upwards and a thick red substance bubbled up into the tube. After a few seconds, Dean replaced the cantina back on the table and held the syringe up to study it better.

Castiel's breath hitched in his throat, "What is that?" He asked before he could stop himself. Dean looked upwards, locking eyes with the angel. The Winchester stepped towards him, ignoring the fire licking at his ankles as he stepped through the holy barrier. Deftly he stepped around the other damp symbols traced in oil on the floor, despite the fact that he never looked down.

"Dean…" Castiel chided, straining to get a better look at the syringe. "What…What are you doing? What is that? Dean?"

Dean shook his head a little, "Cas…" He offered, his voice little more than a whisper, "She has Sam, Cas…" He let his voice trail off and Castiel's eyes softened a little. He understood, of course he did. Nothing meant more to Dean than Sam and Castiel, the angel realised with a sinking heart, wasn't Sam.

Dean drew closer, trepidation slowing his pace. Castiel's breath quickened as the syringe floated upwards into his line of sight. Dean fixed him with a sorrowful expression and afforded the angel with a courtesy Castiel wished he hadn't.

"It's demon blood." The Winchester stated solemnly.

Castiel felt the panic grip him. He had no idea what demon blood would do to him, but he really had no desire to find out. He struggled against the leather straps again, but they forced him back against the stretcher. He felt the sharp stinging of blades against his flesh but he ignored them; his focus was held solely by the needle that crept ever-closer to the crook of his left elbow.

"Dean, you don't have to do this." The angel reasoned though his tone was far from calm, "We can save Sam together, if you just let me go."

Dean shook his head, touched the tip of the needle to Castiel's skin. The angel grimaced and shifted his gaze to Dean's face. He was concentrating on what he was doing and refused to look up. Castiel craned his head a little in a vague attempt at earning Dean's focus. However, the angel was distracted as the thick needle slid beneath his flesh.

"This is the _only_ way I can save Sam." Dean offered, a dark tone creeping into his voice.

Castiel wasn't listening. He winced as the initial sting of the puncture wound began to steadily worsen. He watched as a thin curl of light echoed from the hole the needle had made. Then Dean pressed the plunger down.

Castiel had no words to describe the pain.

As an angel, Castiel had had very little pain to deal with, his divine power healing his vessel before he could even react to any wounds. And even when he had been cut off from heaven, the wounds he sustained from guns or knives healed quick enough that he never really had to address the feeling. Sure there was pain, that was the result of wearing a vessel, but there was never more than a minute's worth and never very intense.

It had _never _felt like this…

Castiel couldn't breath and struggled to take in enough air. At first there was an aching pain as the demon blood snaked through his veins, but this turned into a searing, burning sensation as the foreign substance fought to overtake his own blood.

The angel gritted his teeth against a dizzying sensation, he could almost feel his skin paling with the effort of staying conscious.

Dean removed the needle, but Castiel didn't feel it. He didn't even feel the slither of warmth running down his arm.

The angel tried to calm himself, tried to tell himself that everything was going to be Ok, that everything would be over soon, but with every comforting thought came the doubt. It screamed out to him, warning of his inevitable demise at the hands of someone he thought he could trust, someone he was close to, someone he thought would come to his rescue…

Instead Dean had come to kill him.

Castiel's thoughts vanished at the bidding of a jolt of electricity pulsing through his body. His vision faltered and for a second everything changed colour. A moment ago, everything had been normal, but now it was bathed in an unnerving reddish hue.

A second later his vision returned to normal.

He slumped forward, gasping for air, eyes frantically searching upwards as best they could with the energy that was afforded them. Castiel took in Dean's features, returning to a solemn expression.

Castiel frowned. _Returning?_ Had Dean actually been smiling a mere moment ago? Had he actually been enjoying Castiel's pain?

The angel had little time to ponder this as another shock shook his form. A sensation akin to his blood being boiled, overcame him and his vision changed again.

**_Castiel could not help but cry out. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped downwards, mixing with the tears that slid down his cheeks._**

* * *

_**Poor Castiel Aawww. Don't you just want to give him a great big hug and tell him everything's going to be ok? And yes, I am aware this little chapter is decidedly cruel, but don't worry, there is an explanation for Dean's actions and I'll explain it soon. I was going to attempt to explain a bit in this chapter but I couldn't make it fit in. So hopefully in the upcoming chapters everything will become clear...**_

**_Reviews are always appreciated. :P_**


	11. You've Got It

_I do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean, Castiel, Alastair or any of the other Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this Fanfiction. _

_**Boy, this took ages to write and it was a struggle. Sorry it's another flashback thing but I need to get some of Rachel's backstory out of the way first before I continue with the who cas and Dean torture thing...Poor Cas. Anyway, Chapter Eleven is finally here, so please enjoy!**_

* * *

**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Eleven: You've Got It.**

Rachel took Alastair's hand and stood from her seat. She let him lead her a little way away from the table and then watched as the furniture dissipated around them. The table crackled out of existence, quickly followed by the rug, the hi-fi, the wall units, the photograph, the painting and, eventually, even the terracotta paint on the walls.

Rachel tensed as familiar pinkish grey walls came into view and she pivoted, as much as Alastair would allow with his grip still on her hand, to see the altar and the blood-stained wood of the table, still littered with all manner of cruel devices and weapons.

After a second or two, her gaze found her hand. She stared down at it, a frown creasing her features, wondering why the demon hadn't let go.

Rachel twitched her fingers a little in an attempt to slide them out from under Alastair's grasp. He did not relinquish his hold on her right away, waiting a few seconds more before slowly sliding his fingers from the tangle.

Alastair moved to the centre of the room and Rachel shifted uncomfortably, wondering what exactly the inquisitor had wanted to show her. She spared a glance to his face and took in a smug smile there. Inwardly, she grimaced.

_It's Alastair. Just Alastair. _She told herself, _He is not Dan…_

She looked downwards, her gaze following the direction of her heart as she realised she would never seen Dan again. She would never see her family or her friends. And, even thought it hurt, if she allowed herself to come to terms with that, then he couldn't trick her. Alastair couldn't play his little games if she just forced herself to think like this.

Eventually the silence was broken by Alastair's voice, "You _are_ learning."

Rachel looked up to him, but remained silent. She figured it was better to just wait and see what plans the demon had for her and then deal with them the best she could.

"You want me to change, don't you?" He asked rhetorically, watching as Rachel replied with a tiny, demure nod. Alastair's smile widened. "Very well, but I'm not doing this because it's what you want…"

He paused, angling his head downwards but keeping his eyes locked on Rachel's. The expression reminded her of the one her old elementary school teacher gave her when he wanted to know if she had understood the question. Rachel understood Alastair, he had already made it perfectly clear that what she wanted didn't matter. After all, why should it? She was in hell to be punished. Nothing more.

"…I'm doing this because you need to learn."

Alastair outstretched his arms either side of his body, theatrically, and closed his eyes as if concentrating.

Rachel watched, in awe, as Dan's tanned skin paled and his physique became thinner. His hair grew longer and lighter, becoming a tousled ochre mop. His attire also changed. The black t-shirt vanished and a checkered red and black shirt took it's place, followed by a black sports jacket. The baggy jeans became thinner and tighter and the trainers shrunk.

When it was finished, Alastair fixed the girl with green eyes and tilted his head to one side.

"That better?" He asked, pivoting slowly to allow Rachel to take in his new guise. "Now…" He began, clasping his hands together, "I want _you_ to try it."

Rachel gave a short, disbelieving laugh and then stopped herself when she remembered her company. Alastair studied her dubiously.

Rachel affected confusion, "How?" She squeaked, afraid of what would happen if she got it wrong.

"Just try it." Alastair instructed with a slight sigh in frustration.

"I can't. I mean, I'm not a demon. I don't have any powers. I can't be anyone else. I can't change. I ca-"

Rachel knew she was panicking, she couldn't stop herself. She hadn't even the faintest idea of where to start.

She jumped when the demon appeared in front of her and took hold of her shoulders. She didn't have to look up to meet his eyes now. This was worse, the lack of height difference allowing her to receive the intense stare Alastair was now affording her, in all it's entirety.

"Rachel, this is what I am trying to teach you. All you need to do is concentrate." The demon released her and took a step backwards. He folded one of his arms across his middle and gave a vague wave with the other.

"By the way, that's not strictly true; what you said about not being a demon." He offered nonchalantly, not even bothering to make eye contact.

Rachel's breath hitched in her throat and her eyes widened.

"What do you mean?" She breathed, "I-I'm not a demon…"

"No, you're not…not yet…But you will be."

Alastair's smile widened. He drank in Rachel's expression, savouring the cocktail of fear, disbelief and guilt that swam there.

"That's what the pit does. It twists your soul. Turns it into something else. Every demon was once a human…well…" Alastair paused, his mouth turning downwards at the sides and his eyes flicking upwards in an expression of uncertainty. "Give or take a few."

Rachel shook her head. Alastair smiled and nodded.

"Yes. It is true and you'd be wasting your time in thinking anything different."

There was a long awkward silence. Rachel fought to take in what Alastair had said. It didn't make sense that she was turning into a demon; she didn't feel any different. Subconsciously, she looked down and as far as she could tell, she didn't look any different either. Her head swam and fear coiled itself around her spine. She couldn't be a demon, she couldn't belong to the same species as Alastair.

"There's no fighting it, Rachel. The transformation has already begun."

Rachel looked up, tired of Alastair's smug, knowing smile.

"Now change…Just as I did."

Rachel gave an uncertain nod, knowing that she had to try. Fear gripped her again, causing her heartbeat to quicken involuntarily. She doubted anything would happen. After all, she wasn't a demon yet and she still had no idea what to do. Alastair had said to concentrate, but what exactly was she supposed to concentrate on?

Rachel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew what Alastair expected of her and disobedience was not an option.

The girl tried to focus, tried to ignore the fact that Alastair was watching her. For moments she stood, absolutely still and waiting for the demon's defeated sigh as he realised that she could not do what he asked of her. When nothing came she exhaled slowly and focused on her hair, figuring she could try to change something small.

Rachel pictured how her hair had looked the last time she had seen it, properly. That was probably her last evening on Earth. She had been having dinner with some friends and she had gone to the bathroom. She remembered standing in front of the mirror at the sinks. Her hair was smooth and straight, glossy and chocolate brown. She remembered tucking a stray strand behind her left ear as she rummaged through her bag to find her lip gloss and eyeliner. Looking back up, she realised she was pleased with her appearance and she felt truly happy. A glance at her watch dispelled any feelings of elation, however. The clock read 10.43 and, with a sinking feeling, she realised that in less that two hours her life would be over. She had taken a deep breath to steady herself, determined to enjoy the rest of the evening, and had headed back to the table.

Rachel had no idea what state her hair was in now, after years of torment and torture, but she figured the memory of it was better than nothing.

She tried to picture every strand and how each one caught the light as she moved. She pictured how fluid it looked when she shook her head and imagined the softness of it as she ran it through her fingertips.

Then she imagined it was blonde. Rachel pictured the colour tingling at the top of her head and trickling down to the tips. She concentrated hard, screwing up her eyes and willing the power she shouldn't have possessed to manifest itself.

A strange sensation bubbled inside of her and her head suddenly itched. Slowly, she realised what was happening and her eyes shot open. She tried not to touch it, scared of what the power of it all would do to her if she didn't let it finish. The itching sensation vanished almost as quickly as it had come and she tentatively reached upwards. Her fingertips came in contact with feather soft strands of hair and Rachel twisted the hair around her shoulder so that she could see it. She studied the golden colour of it in awe and found herself smiling a little.

Rachel spared a glanced to Alastair who was regarding her with smug pride. He gave an approving nod and then watched as Rachel's natural hair colour banished the blonde.

The girl's heart sank a little at this and shot a fleeting, fearful glance to the demon, wondering whether this was supposed to happen or not. Alastair made no move to strike her and his expression remained steadfast.

"Very good. Now, try something else, something more. And try to hold it for longer this time." His smile widened as Rachel's brow creased into a determined glare and she closed her eyes again.

* * *

Rachel allowed the other demon, Cael, to walk on ahead of her. She knew what she was going to find here and she had no desire to rush into it. She still had to prepare herself for the sight.

The room was huge and a large devil's trap, drawn in what appeared to be white chalk, held pride of place in the centre of it. Erected inside the trap was an iron pentacle, overgrown with thick chains. Rachel shook her head and approached the trap carefully. She didn't recognise any of the symbols written inside it and her brow furrowed as she attempted to decipher them.

"S'no use trying to work it out…" Cael offered with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "It's old Enochian."

Rachel's eyes narrowed and she rounded the trap and crouched by a broken white line. Her gaze shifted upwards and fell upon a dripping pipeline. She held out her hand to catch the next droplet of water and studied it dubiously.

"That means angels, right?" She asked distantly.

Cael nodded, but Rachel wasn't looking. She tore her gaze away from the broken devil's trap and scanned the rest of the room.

Rachel's breath hitched in her throat as she crossed the demon trap and took in the fearful open eyes of the dead body. The man was thin and pale with a goatee affair gracing his features. His light blue shirt was awash with dark red patches. She reached forward and traced a gentle finger along the corpse's bloodied lips, recoiling suddenly as the sting of salt burned on her finger tip. She grimaced.

The other demon appeared at her shoulder, crouching beside her. He tilted his head to one side.

"Is that Alastair?" He asked shakily.

"Yes." Rachel replied dully, venom creeping into her voice.

"So what? The angels killed him?"

Rachel nodded and then brought her fingertip up so that her comrade could see it better, "Not only that…they tortured him too."

She shifted and leant in closer to the human vessel that had once played host to the fabled inquisitor. Absent-mindedly, she wiped the remnants of the salt on the leg of her jeans and reached out towards the man's forehead with the same hand. Rachel closed her eyes and touched the cold flesh, with unwavering confidence.

She half-heard the other demon ask something else, but she ignored him, knowing she had to concentrate if this was going to work at all.

Cael watched as Rachel laid hands on the corpse. He frowned in confusion, trying to work out what, exactly, she was doing. Cael attempted to ask her, but she ignored him. After a few seconds more of being ignored, he performed the usual pantomime of waving his hands in front of Rachel's face and clicking his fingers. She appeared to be in some sort of trance.

Cael considered slapping the girl in the face, and was just about to, when she started into consciousness again.

Cael stared to her in disbelief, Rachel stared ahead of herself, still seemingly ignorant towards him.

Rachel said nothing as she stood from her kneeling position and walked a little way away from the body. Cael stood and followed, moving to stand just in front of the other demon.

"What was that?" He ventured, earning himself a menacing stare from Rachel.

"What was what?" She replied, in a tone that was, Cael suspected, supposed to be more innocent that it actually turned out.

"That whole touching the dead vessel and going all hypno-freak on me!"

Rachel allowed herself a knowing smile, "That was a little something Alastair taught me when he was still alive."

Rachel placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the room around her. Her gaze found the floor and fell upon the pock marking of congealed remnants of pools of blood. She tilted her head to one side.

Cael frowned, wanting to ask more questions but daring not to. Rachel turned to him and took in the expression on his face.

"What?" She asked dubiously.

Cael merely gave a sarcastic shrug in response. Rachel rolled her eyes.

"That little exercise allowed me to probe the vessel's mind and see his last memories." Rachel offered, turning away from the other demon and pondering the scene before her.

She had known Alastair was dead as soon as she was told he had been captured. Her orders had been to track down the demon and deal with the situation, accordingly. This, undoubtedly, meant bloodshed, and lots of it, with the only uncertainty being as to whether Alastair's captors had killed him or not.

The revelation that Alastair had been captured by Angels made sense (after al,l Alastair was not just any old piss-ant demon; he was the inquisitor and, as such, he was not prone to making mistakes that would result in his capture.) but it unnerved her. She wanted revenge for Alastair's death and she knew her superiors wanted revenge as well. But how the hell was she supposed to get revenge on angels? Could angels even be killed? Any attempt at finding out would surely result in an agonising defeat for her…

And what made the situation even worse, was the fact that the Winchester brothers had been involved, as well. The rules regarding the brothers were warped and inconsistent. Some demons said they were not to be harmed, whilst others insisted that they should both meet with slow and painful deaths.

Rachel shook her head. She felt helpless. She could exact _some_ revenge for Alastair's death, in killing Sam and Dean Winchester, but how could she be expected to deal with the angel part of the problem?

She needed help, she needed guidance, she needed an army of demons who would gladly die for her…Or, if nothing else, she needed a kick-ass arsenal in the hope that she would, eventually, find something that would kill an angel.

With a sigh, Rachel turned back to Cael.

"Come on." She shrugged, feeling somewhat deflated, "Let's get out of here, before they come back."


	12. Hocus Pocus

_**So sorry that this took so long guys. I just started college and with work and all I'm only getting one day off a week and this, unfortunately, is dedicated mostly to chores, leaving me very little chance to write anything. Hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy! Reviews get cookies :)**_

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this fanfic._**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Hocus Pocus.**

Dean ascended the staircase deftly taking each step in silence. This was the last floor so, unless Sam had found anything in the basement, there had to be something here that would lead them to Castiel.

The older Winchester rounded the corner and was presented with a corridor that followed the same uniform as the others he had already explored. It was still dark and damp and the thin metal walls were pockmarked with rust. There was less graffiti than the other floors and Dean put this down to the fact that those inclined to scrawl their indecipherable tags on walls in buildings they shouldn't even have entered, were probably not of a strong enough constitution to risk coming to the top floor, from which a hasty escape would be difficult. But other than the lesser quantity of spray paint on the walls, there was nothing Dean could use to tell this landing apart from the rest.

He turned right and made his way to the bottom of the corridor. Like the others, this one had doors on either side. Some where open, others were closed. Dean peered tentatively into the rooms that were open, letting the flashlight search the crevices. He continued onwards, making a mental note to check those rooms more thoroughly on the way back. After all, if he were going to find Castiel, or even some clue as to his whereabouts, he knew he had to take care not to miss anything.

Coming in front of a closed door on the right side of the hallway, Dean tried to dispel the feelings of hopelessness that were slowly arising in him. So far he had found nothing and this floor was the only one left to search. It wouldn't make sense for anyone to be holding the angel prisoner up here. It wasn't exactly secure, the walls weren't exactly soundproof. In fact, the only thing it had going for it was that if you did hold someone captive up here then if they did get loose, unless they jumped out of the window at the end of the corridor, they would have to go down five staircases and find the door to get out of the building. Plenty of time to catch up with them and apprehend them again.

It made even less sense to hold Castiel up here…Dean knew that if Castiel was being held captive and he somehow got loose then he wouldn't need to even consider taking the stairs; he could just zap himself somewhere safe. This instilled a sense of dread in the older Winchester. He wanted to believe that Castiel was alright, but he knew that there was a slim chance of that. If he was alright then he would have tried to contact him, right? This could mean one of two things; Castiel was dead. Or he was being held somewhere against his will and at the mercy of whoever, or whatever, had sent him the vision. Dean hoped it was the latter of the two, but with every step he took that the air remained still and silent, with every room he searched in which he found nothing, his heart sank. The only thing that kept him going was the thought that angels were difficult to kill and so there was a good chance that, unless Castiel had seriously pissed off one of his brothers or sisters, he was still alive.

Dean's heart skipped a beat as he kicked open the door, but it sunk again as he took in the agonising emptiness of what appeared to be a long-time disused store room.

With a sigh he turned to the door opposite.

"Jeez!" He spat as he pivoted and came face to face (Or face to shoulder) with his younger brother. He made a conscious effort to calm himself and removed his finger from the vicinity of the trigger on his gun, just in case. He took a deep breath and then fixed Sam with a frown in annoyance.

"Don't do that." He chided, trying to get his breath back.

Sam stared to him and gave a smile in amusement, "Sorry." He shrugged.

"You find anything?" Dean queried, looking his brother up and down dubiously, slightly annoyed that he had managed to creep up on him without him knowing.

"Maybe…"

"What do you mean, 'maybe'?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, "I need a lock pick." he offered simply, taking off down the corridor and towards the staircase, "Come on."

Dean raised an eyebrow and followed his brother, sparing a glance behind him. He didn't want to leave this floor unchecked. He need to be thorough if he wanted to find anything, but at the same time, he knew that Sam wouldn't have come to find him if he didn't think it was important.

Watching Sam descend the stairs and noticing the absence of his duffle on his shoulder, Dean's brow furrowed, "Hey, where's your bag?"

Sam gave a shrug of his shoulders but didn't turn to face him, "Must've left it down in the basement."

The older Winchester narrowed his eyes at Sam's back, not entirely convinced by his answer, but following him, nonetheless.

Sam lead Dean through the canteen area and through the door to the kitchen. Dean noticed the clutter of pots, pans and utensils arranged haphazardly on the tiles as he edged between the two stainless steel islands to get to the cellar door. He figured they were the ones responsible for the ruckus earlier on.

"Why didn't you pick those up?" Dean wondered aloud, earning himself another shrug in response from Sam.

"Didn't wanna risk making any more noise." The younger Winchester offered, pushing open the door to the basement and descending the staircase there, "Come on."

This was another unconvincing answer and, as a result, Dean descended the stairs after his brother, proceeding with a little more trepidation than before.

Sam stopped in front of a thick-looking door with a glass window in it. He approached it carefully, shooting Sam a dubious sideways glance, "This is it?"

Sam gave a nod. Dean raised an eyebrow and twitched his head a little, tucking his gun in the back of his jeans. He stepped towards the window, cupped one hand against the obscure glass and shining the torch through it. After a second he turned back to his brother, raising both eyebrows.

"You think there's really anything in there?" He asked in a ridiculing tone of voice.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Surely it can't hurt to check it out anyway."

"Oh ok…" Dean began, "It's just that if I were going to hold someone captive I wouldn't use a room with a freakin' window in the door!"

The younger Winchester affected his puppy-dog stare, "Dean." He moaned.

Rolling his eyes and heaving a frustrated sigh, Dean fished around in his jacket for his lock picks. When he found them he held them out for his brother. Sam made no attempt to move and merely stood staring ahead of him, hands on his hips. He gave a nod in the direction of the door.

"I swear to God, Sam!" Dean huffed, turning back to the door and kneeling by the escutcheon. He slid the lock pick into the keyhole. After a few seconds the lock gave an obedient click and Dean tried the handle, pushing the door open and moving to stand.

He consciously moved to the opposite wall and began to fiddle with his bag. He placed the lock pick set back in his jacket pocket.

"Go ahead." he offered, watching with satisfaction as Sam crossed the threshold. He looked around, but kept his back to the open door.

Dean's frown intensified as he pulled his sawn-off from his bag, aiming it squarely at Sam's shoulders.

The man standing before him now was not his brother. The man standing in front of him now was not a man. The man standing in front of him now was something else entirely.

Sam wasn't in the habit of forgetting any bags he was carrying. In fact, Sam just wasn't in the habit of forgetting. Yes, Castiel had broken one of his lock picks but Sam usually carried a set, just like Dean did, so he would have had spares and would never have needed to come and get Dean for his. Also, being more than just a little prone to OCD, Sam would have stopped to pick up the things he had knocked over on his way back up from the basement. If for no other reason, than to make it easier for him and Dean to get to the door the next time round.

And all these little things added up to the fact that this person standing in the empty room in front of him, searching the pitch black without a flashlight, was an impostor.

He was kicking himself for not having figured it out earlier.

Sam placed his hands on his hips and called over his shoulder, "You wanna come in and check it out? You know, just in case I missed something?"

Dean gave a nod and affected nonchalance in his voice.

"Sure." He stated, with narrowed eyes.

Dean squeezed the trigger, unloading the cartridge of rock salt into the creature impersonating his brother.

He expected dissipation. He expected Sam to smoke and dematerialise with a blood-curdling scream. Instead there was no sound. Sam flickered like a TV on the blink before finally disappearing into nothing. There was no screaming, just nothing.

Gingerly, Dean stepped towards the door jamb, throwing torchlight into the room before him. It appeared to be some sort of boiler room, but even through the mass of snaking pipes and dehydrated water tanks he could tell there was no one else there with him.

With a steely glare, the older Winchester turned out of the room and headed back into the corridor. He had to find Sam and make sure he was safe.

He started off down the hallway to his right.

"Sammy!" He called, listening attentively for any reply.

Sam pivoted on his heel and started towards the door as the gun shot echoed in the distance. It was difficult to tell which direction it had come from, but someone had fired a gun, he was sure of it.

"D'you hear that?" he asked Dean who was standing just the other side of the threshold. He watched as the older Winchester gave a nod and turned his attention to his left and then to his right, seemingly unsure as to where it had come from.

"You stay here." Dean instructed, reaching for the door.

Sam frowned and reached for the portal as well, in attempt to stop his brother from shutting him in the room.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

Momentarily, Sam felt the pressure on the door lessen a little.

"You stay here," Dean repeated, "I'll go check it out."

Sam frowned as he heard Dean's voice from a distance, calling out for him. In distraction, he lost the battle of the door and it slammed shut in his face.

"Dean!" He yelled, pounding his fist against the frosted glass panel that made up the top half of the door, "Let me out!"

He took in the obscure form of his brother as he gave a triumphant wave and made to walk away.

"This isn't funny!" Sam roared, "Dean!"

Just then, the blurred figure of Dean flickered out of existence at the bidding of another gun shot.

Sam jumped and instinctively covered his face with his right arm, even though he knew that there was a door between him and the shot. Lowering his arm, he stared at the glass pane in disbelief.

After a moment or two another outline became apparent in the glass. This one looked like Dean too. Sam dug out Ruby's knife, not wanting to take any chances. The steady clicking of a lock being picked emanated from the keyhole and when it stopped the door swung open.

"Sammy?" Came Dean's voice.

"Dean?" Sam relied dubiously.

The door crept open a little more and the older Winchester rounded the frame gingerly, the barrel of the shotgun preceding him.

"Sam, is that really you?"

"That depends…That really you?"

The pair remained silent for a view seconds as each one came into view for the other. Dean lowered his gun, taking in the bag on Sam's shoulder and Sam stowed the knife as he noticed Dean's jacket, a detail that had been missing on the impersonator.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, moving to stand aside his brother in the corridor.

Dean gave a shrug of his shoulders, "Beats me. Whatever they were they weren't shape shifters…I don't think they were angry spirits either, I mean you ever known your average run-in-the-mill spirit to take on another form just to taunt you?"

Sam shook his head, "No, guess not. What do you mean 'they'?"

"I got one too." Dean replied with a shrug of his shoulders and a look that said Sam ought to have figured that out already. "Only mine was you."

"So what then? You thinking a trickster, maybe?"

"Disappearing at salt rounds? I don't think so…"

"And did you see the way it vanished?" Sam pondered aloud.

Dean nodded and stared off into the darkness for a few seconds, "You find anything down here?" He asked, eventually, watching as Sam shook his head.

"Nah, this was the last room and it's pretty empty. How 'bout you?"

"I've still got the top floor to search. I'd just started on it when you showed up."

"You think Cas is up there somewhere?" Sam queried, hope bleeding through into his voice.

"I hope so; we're rapidly running out of building." Dean breathed, striding off into the void, "Let's go."

Sam gave a nod and followed after Dean.


	13. Anyone But You

Wahey! Would you look at that? I've hit thirteen chapters. I can't believe that...Wow, I think I might actually finish a story (That will be a first for me!) Anyway, I hope you enjoy. The next chapter should be full of angsty goodness; I've got a few more cruel little things planned. Poor Castiel. I shall work on Chapter 14 when I'm bored at work and hopefully I'll have something for you to read soon. Remember, reviews are love and get cookies in return. Thanks guys!

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural Characters I may use or mention in this Fanfiction no matter how much I wish I did._

* * *

**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Thirteen: Anyone But You.**

Castiel moved to look upwards. The action was sluggish and dizzying, the angel grimaced with the effort. He took a moment and a breath to stay the light-headedness and then slowly bid his eyelids slide open. His dull, bloodshot eyes turned sad and hopeless as Castiel registered the form of his tormentor. It was still Dean.

The angel had lost count of the number of times he had repeated this small action. Every moment between the beatings, the lacerations and the injections of demon blood was filled with this tiny hopeful action. Everything felt real, Dean looked real, sounded real and yet, Castiel refused to believe it was really the older Winchester standing before him. Every time the angel dropped his head in exhaustion a small glimmer of hope instilled itself in his mind and heart. The hope that when next he raised his head it would not be Dean brandishing the blades and syringes. It would be Rachel…or anyone, he didn't care. He could have even settled for Sam in the role as his torturer…anyone but Dean.

Castiel completed the action and saw Dean before him, his clothes stained with the blood of his vessel, blood that had come from him. The angel felt saliva pool in his mouth and something slick and acidic forced its way up his throat. The sensation had been unknown to him before this night, but now he knew all too well what it meant. He swallowed hard, forcing the burning lump back down, the effort made him dizzy but he didn't want to vomit again. It burned in his throat, a mixture of stomach acid and blood. Castiel didn't eat and that meant Jimmy, his vessel, didn't eat. After the first few wretches there had been nothing left in his stomach to expel and the acid tore at the lining instead. The resulting vomit being reduced to a cocktail of bile and plasma.

Castiel grimaced, taking in Dean's expression, a concoction of complacence, pride and unconvincing uncertainty.

The angel allowed himself a breath, safe in the knowledge that, at least for now, he had managed to beat his gag-reflex. The air was thick and humid, tasting of copper and salt as blood and sweat beaded on his skin. A tear rolled down his cheek and into his mouth. He drank in the small droplet of salt water against the arid dusty sensation around his tongue.

"Dean…" He croaked, watching as the Winchester turned to him with a new instrument in his hand. It was a small box, forged in Enochian steel, with two levers, one on each of the longer sides. The device glinted in the firelight and Castiel tried to ignore it; he didn't know what it was and he didn't care to know.

The angel stared ahead, trying to affect an unreadable expression, but failing miserably. He felt faint. Surely there couldn't be much more of this, surely Dean had exhausted the arsenal available to him…

"Please, Dean." Castiel tried again, willing the human to hear his voice and take pity. He watched with disappointment as Dean began to approach him, the box still clutched in his left hand. For a moment, the angel thought he saw regret in the older Winchester's eyes but this could have been a trick of the light.

As Dean approached him, Castiel couldn't help but feel that maybe he deserved this. Maybe this had been the great plan all along. After all, he had been the one to capture Alastair and he had persuaded Dean to torture the demon, despite the Winchester's protests and warnings that he wouldn't like what walked back through the door. Maybe this was the manifestation of the same darkness he had seen back then.

Dean may not have wanted to torture the angel at first, but perhaps now he was enjoying it, paying Castiel back for the little episode with Alastair. Dean had ended up in hospital for that and maybe he harboured some ill-will towards Castiel for making him enter the room in the first place.

Dean was finally at his side. He ignored the rule of personal space, forcing himself up against the angel, holding Castiel's panicked gaze.

Castiel swallowed back his fear and tensed his muscles in an attempt to lessen the imminent pain.

In an action that was slow and steady and with eyes as cold and unfeeling as ice, Dean looked downwards. Involuntarily, Castiel followed suit and found the Winchester's focus held by the left side of his stomach against which he now pressed the small box. Dean applied pressure, holding the cuboid flat against the angel's skin, fingers and thumb poised over the levers, ready to squeeze.

Castiel's breath caught in his throat as Dean pinched the levers slowly, controlling the action carefully.

The angel felt the sensation of the steel tingle in his flesh. The device had merely grazed his flesh as Dean lost his grip on it and fell away from him. In morbid curiosity, Castiel looked downwards. There was a rectangle etched out in minute, shallow cuts where the box had been. The angel realised Dean had not completed the process, knowing that there should have been more pain. He spared himself a moment, mentally checking himself over for any internal anomalies; the box could have been some sort of injection device. After a second or two, the angel was satisfied that, what ever it was the box was designed to do, it hadn't gotten the chance.

He sought out Dean, wanting to know what had happened to make him stop. The angel subconsciously wondered whether he was alright.

Looking across the room, Castiel took in the form of Dean, leaning against the table in a manner that might have appeared nonchalant were it not for the expression of steely concentration etched into his features. The angel's brow furrowed as the human flickered in and out of focus. He blinked but Dean still flickered. He put it down to exhaustion; everything Dean had done to him was taking its toll and playing havoc with his vision.

Castiel followed the blurring Winchester with his gaze as he made for the door. The human's gait was determined, dutiful even, but his pace was hasty and rushed. The angel watched silently as Dean threw open the door and stomped through it. The Winchester left the door open and this unnerved Castiel. He could see nothing beyond the threshold. Where was Dean going? Was he walking straight into the same fate as Castiel? Or had he done enough to save Sam and was just going to collect his brother and make his escape?

The angel stared at the door for what seemed like an age, wondering after Dean. He was conflicted, part of Castiel wanted revenge for Dean's actions, but a larger part understood why he had done what he did and knew that he wouldn't stay mad at him. Dean cherished his brother and Castiel reiterated for himself the fact that nothing and no one meant more to the older Winchester than Sam. Castiel hoped he had done enough to appease Rachel and had been allowed to leave with Sam. The angel wouldn't hold it against the Winchesters for leaving without him. After all, he hadn't even wanted their help in the first place…

They would probably be better off without him. It wasn't as if he was of any use to them any more. His powers were failing him, slowly, one by one, and what use is an angel with no powers?

Castiel let his head drop, resting his chin against his chest. He released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and closed his eyes in exhaustion, trying to ignore the fact he was strapped uncomfortably to the rack.

For the moment, he was alone. For the moment, he was safe. And he intended to savour it.

The door slammed shut at the bidding of a small hand gesture from Rachel, who appeared in the room, arms folded against her chest. The angel's head jerked upwards, instinctively, grimacing as the rack cut him for his insolence.

He caught sight of Rachel and attempted a vengeful glare but didn't feel he achieved much.

"Sorry for waking you, Castiel." Rachel smiled to him. Her voice sparkled with innocence, but underneath there was a sizzle of venom. "But we really need to be getting on."

"Where's Dean?" Castiel found himself asking, before he could stop himself.

"Oh, he's quite safe. For now anyway." Rachel dug into her jeans pocket and pulled from it the book of matches from earlier.

"And Sam?"

"Him too." Rachel replied, nonchalantly, breaking off a match and twirling it in her fingers. She tilted her head to one side, "You amaze me, Castiel. How you could even care about the safety of those two is beyond me. After what they did to you. After what Dean did to you." He noticed a flicker of pity cross her eyes, but Castiel figured this was either just a trick of the light or a theatrical gesture.

Castiel had no response to this and when he made no move to speak, Rachel continued.

"He tortured you, Castiel. Every little cut and welt on your skin was dealt by his hand. And why? Just to save little Sammy…You will never mean more to him than Sam does. So why do you keep trying?"

The question was rhetorical but Castiel couldn't help but try to answer it; why _did_ he keep trying? He had rebelled against his orders for Dean Winchester, but why? What was the real reason behind his loyalty to him when his loyalty should have been to heaven?

Rachel smiled, struck the match and let it slip from her fingers. The sigil below her hand exploded into life, writhing and seething with power that was known to both the angel and the girl.

Castiel was shaken from his thoughts at this small gesture and his eyes widened, all at once realising what it was that Rachel intended. He had almost forgotten about the symbols etched in holy oil within the ring of fire. He knew at that moment he was destined to die here and there was nothing he could do about it. A small resigned tear rolled down his cheek. Rachel smiled in satisfaction as she drank in every drop of panic in Castiel's eyes. She lit another match and dropped it. A second, slightly smaller sigil roared into life.

Castiel strained against the leather straps, making a conscious effort to ignore the resulting cuts.

Upon realising that his efforts were completely useless against the device, he leant forward, trying to catch his breath.

He sucked in air through gritted teeth and tried to focus on anything but the dancing flames that would bring about his death. He tried to ignore the fact that Rachel had broken off a third match and was poised to strike it against the book.

"You said you wanted revenge." Castiel began, suddenly, trying anything to take his mind off of his impending doom, "For what?"

Rachel gave a knowing smile, "Let's just suffice to say…" She struck the match and held it over the final symbol, "…I was a friend of Alastair's." her expression spilled over with venom and menace. Castiel's gaze found the flames. It made sense that Alastair would carved himself new inquisitors. The angel knew that Dean had been one of his protégés and it stood to reason Alastair wouldn't just stop at one.

Rachel released her grip on the matchstick.

Castiel's heart spluttered with terror as he watched the girl dig around beneath her neckline. She took hold of what she was searching for and began to slowly drag it upwards. The angel struggled again, using his last dose of adrenalin in an attempt to break free from the rack. The bindings refused to yield to him and pressed him back onto the rack. Wounds sizzled on his back, at his shoulders, calves and arms.

He fought to breath as the leather straps tightened and threatened to crack ribs.

Rachel found the pendant she had made known to the angel earlier and moved to stand in the middle of the three sigils, fluid with Enochian magic. She held out the pendant as far as the chain would allow, outstretching her free hand and aiming a flat, steady palm towards Castiel.

The angel slumped forwards, breathing heavy and laboured, watching Rachel from the top of his eyes. He knew he was about to die. He was about to die and nothing would bring him back this time. He knew she wanted him to beg for his life; he could see it in her eyes.

Castiel stared forwards in determination and resolve. He would not beg. She would kill him anyway, whether he squirmed under her position of power or not. No, he was ready for this. He would not give her the satisfaction.

Rachel fixed the angel with narrowed eyes, an Enochian spell bubbling in her throat.

Castiel listened to the words. He had read them before. All angels knew them, but they were rarely spoken. They formed the foundations of a ritual with painful, agonising results.

Sam had asked him once whether what Anna had said about the removal of her grace being akin to cutting out your own kidney with a butter knife, was true. Castiel couldn't give him an answer then, but it looked as if he were about to find out.

The words were beautiful, almost like poetry, the beauty amplified by Rachel's silvery voice. Castiel didn't know whether they sounded beautiful because he had never heard the words before or merely how the spell was written. He relished the poetry in the magic, despite the fact it would spell his death. It was Enochian verse, heavenly magic, a link to the place he belonged to and should never have left. He savoured it, remembering the simplicity of it all; he was given orders and he followed them, that was the way it was and had always been. And _he_ had thrown it all away for the sake of two humans; One of Azazel's children and Micheal's vessel who seemed content to just ignore the destiny that had been chosen for him, despite the fact that those who wrote his fate also raised him from hell.

Castiel was startled from his thoughts by an intense pressure bearing down on him. A sickly feeling rose in his stomach, followed by alternating waves of sharp stabbing pain and dull throbbing aches in his torso. He felt suddenly feverish and his eyes itched. He gritted his teeth against the pain, trying to build barriers around his body with his mind, but to no avail. Rachel's relentless attack continued to charge and after minute of confusing, stabbing, throbbing, aching, burning, searing, dizzying pain a tendril of spectral light forced itself outwards through Castiel's chest. His vision faltered. His hearing became muffled, the poetry no longer reaching his ears over the din of his quickening heartbeat. His head pounded and tears poured down his cheeks. The angel fought the urge to cry out, wide eyes transfixed on the shimmering light swirling and dancing in all the colours of the spectrum, like oil on water, flowing towards Rachel's outstretched palm. She continued chanting the spell, knowing that the magic would work better for her this way. She was no angel and thus, the magic would be weakened. Yes, she possessed the grace of six angels-and this helped-but the spell worked best when spoken by a true, fully-fledged angel of the lord.

Castiel found he could no longer breathe properly, gasping in lungfuls of air just to keep himself conscious. His resolve weakened and he could not help but cry out. The pain charged and battered his defences, squeezing through every wound on his body, searching out his grace.

This was it. He was as good as dead. His vessel was too badly damaged now, to be able to accommodate him after the ritual. In effect, Castiel would die twice. Once as everything that made him an angel, everything that linked him to heaven, was taken from him. He would die as an angel and be completely human with no choice but to stay in the form of Jimmy Novak.

And then he would die as a human. Jimmy's body was broken beyond repair. Bleeding both on the surface and internally. Vulnerable, wounded, lost. There would be no saving himself once he had no grace. He would not be able to heal himself (not that he could do that anyway) and even with all the rest in the world, Jimmy would be damaged. It might be something small; a limp perhaps and a slight slur when he spoke. Or his body might never heal properly and the man would spend the rest of his life confined to a wheelchair, trapped in the body and mind of a human.

Either way Castiel knew that neither one of these possibilities were option unless he sought immediate medical attention as soon as he was completely human. Unfortunately for Castiel, he was in the middle of nowhere with no one else around but Rachel and she probably wasn't going to call an ambulance for him. Sam and Dean might still be in the area, but Castiel almost wished they were out by now and had left him behind.

Castiel took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pain enveloping him.

He waited for death to find him...

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**_Eep! Cliffhanger Alert! I hope Sam and Dean get to Cas before death does (I mean the idea of death, or reapers I suppose, rather than the actual character. That would be a bit weird wouldn't it? But maybe Death does actually come to collect the souls of former angels himself...who knows...). Anyway, please keep reading, reviews always appreciated. :)_**


	14. Unwelcome

_Supernatural and the Supernatural characters I use and or mention in this fan fiction are not mine…Unfortunately…_

_****__Yeah I got stuck. I had a good idea with the whole veil thing (read on to find out more) and then struggled to write it. I'm going to attempt to pen a fight between the Winchesters and Rachel in the next chapter, but we shall see what happens. And after that I'm going to be piling on the angsty goodness, so I hope you enjoy angst. Anyway, talk to you next chapter I guess. Reviews please! lol_

* * *

**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Fourteen: Unwelcome.**

The Winchesters parted ways at the staircase on the last floor. Dean subconsciously moved to the right, eager to pick up the search from where he had left off. Sam peeled off to the left, grimacing at the eerie silence surrounding him. This whole situation unnerved him and the worst thing about it was that they still didn't know what they were dealing with. The younger Winchester didn't like to be unprepared and he was willing to bet that Dean was having similar feelings. He spared a glance in the direction of his brother as he disappeared into the darkness, in the opposite direction. He gave a sad shake of his head and turned his attention back to the left corridor, his reserve of hope that they would find something dripping away with each step he took.

Sam stole to the end of the hallway, torchlight carving out a thin pathway before him. The first two doors led to empty rooms, just as he had expected, but the third was different.

The younger Winchester tentatively put pressure on the lever. He pressed himself up against the door frame and pushed the portal with enough force so that it would swing open, but not so much that it couldn't have been explained away by a gust of wind and it having been left accidentally off the latch. He had been careful to aim the beam of light away from the opening, lest anything be waiting for him on the other side. Sam listened for any movement and, when only silence greeted him, he swung the flashlight round and edged into the room.

Sam's brow furrowed as he took in the sudden thickness of the air inside the room. It seemed heavier than it had a moment ago and along with the new pressure came humidity and the faintest scent of copper and salt. It felt like the air after a thunderstorm, fuzzy with static. The only difference being that, usually, thunderstorms did not occur indoors…and, usually, they did not carry with them the scent of blood. He knew, all too well, the scent of it and he knew that the metallic tang sprinkled in a layer of salt, could be nothing else.

Sam breathed in deeply, in an attempt to locate the source of the scent, eyes narrowing in dubious scrutiny.

The room was clean and completely empty. There was nothing. Not even a dark stain on one of the walls.

Sam's heart sank a little and he turned back to the door, figuring the pressure and smell might have just been a result of years of the room being untouched. Something in his gut told him that there was more to the chamber, but if there was, Sam couldn't find it.

He heaved a sigh, brow creasing deeper as a new smell caught in his nose on the subsequent intake of breath.

For a second, he swore he could smell something akin to rotten eggs. For a second, he swore he could smell sulphur.

He gritted his teeth and spun around on his heel, nostril's flaring, torchlight strobing erratically across the ceiling, walls and floor. It came to a sudden stop by the bottom left corner of the door frame, solely focused on a small deposit of powder, swept into a semi-circle as a result of the door swinging inwards.

Without giving it a second thought, Sam approached the powdery substance and dabbed a finger in it. He brought it upwards and sniffed. His nose wrinkling in disgust. There was no doubt about it. The powder was definitely sulphur.

In an action that was almost too fast for a human, Sam stood and made for the doorway. He gripped the door frame with his right hand and allowed the left to swing torchlight down the landing after his brother.

"Dean!" He barked, trying to keep his voice down but failing with his haste and anticipation. For seconds, there came no reply and Sam's gaze shifted from one side of the hallway to the other, waiting for Dean to emerge.

Eventually, the older Winchester stepped from a doorway to the right, an arm springing involuntarily to his forehead, in an attempt to lessen the impact of torchlight on his pupils. In a normal situation, he might have been annoyed by Sam's disregard for his sight, but this was no ordinary situation and he decided to forgive the younger Winchester's ignorance, all the while, knowing-or hoping-that he had found something.

Dean strode hurriedly over to his younger brother, pushing the flashlight downwards as he approached.

"You found something?" Dean asked, watching as his younger brother gave a self-satisfied nod, shifting the beam of light downwards to the bottom of the door.

Dean absent-mindedly followed the flashlight's focus and knelt, tucking his pistol into his waistband as he did so. He pinched at the powder and wafted it under his nose.

"Sulphur." Sam stated the obvious.

Dean gave a nod and stood, wiping the excess powder on his jeans.

He savoured the feeling of relief that this small clue afforded.

Demons; sulphur meant demons and they could kill demons.

Dean turned towards the door and threw light into the empty space. There was nothing and his shoulders sank a little in disappointment.

He turned back to his brother and moved to walk back the way he had come. Sam stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

Dean pivoted, hard-faced and irritable.

"Dean, where are you going?" the younger Winchester asked.

"There's nothing here, Sam; the room's empty. Hey, don't get me wrong; if we're hunting demons, that's great, that's easy…but we have to track them down first before we can even think about ganking the sons of bitches. And this room…" He threw his arms forward in a frustrated illustration of his point, "…is completely empty; they're not here." He caught sight of a slight smirk from his brother and raised a quizzical eyebrow, "What?" He spat.

"Go inside." Sam instructed, giving a nod in the direction of the chamber.

With a sigh that was half resignation half annoyance, Dean stepped over the threshold and into the room.

His footsteps slowed as he continued to the chamber's centre. His brow creased and he scanned the room with his torch. Everything felt fuzzy. There was no other word he could think of to describe it. The air was undeniably thicker and resisted slightly as he tried to breathe it in.

Dean continued to search the chamber with the flashlight as Sam came beside him.

"You feel that?" Sam probed, watching as Dean gave a slow, uncertain nod.

"Yeah." he replied slowly, turning to face his brother, "What do you think it is?"

Sam gave a shrug of his shoulders, but offered an answer anyway, "I don't know. Some sort of barrier or-or veil maybe…Hiding what's really here?"

He hadn't meant the last part as a question, but somehow Sam's own self-doubt in his explanation bled through and turned it into one.

Dean shook his head a little and raised a quizzical eyebrow, "Maybe…but coming from a demon? Sulphur definitely means it's demonic, right?"

Sam gave a nod, though Dean could see the doubt in his eyes.

"Have you ever met a demon that could create apparitions? That could taunt you with apparitions?" Dean sucked in a breath and exhaled deeply, tearing his gaze from Sam and panning torchlight around the room again, "I don't know, Sammy…""Well it's either not a demon at all and we just happen to be dealing with something we've never seen before or…" Sam paused for dramatic effect, though he was sure this was not really required, given the circumstances, "…we're up against a real-"

"Son-of-a-bitch." Dean finished, distantly. His focused had now fallen on the doorway again.

Dean wanted to believe it was Sam's second theory and, in all honesty, this seemed more likely. So far they hadn't encountered anything that left sulphur behind but shared the same traits as a trickster, but they had come across demons of high pay grades before. Dean would have gotten Bobby to google it for him, but wasting time, right now, was simply not an option. They had to figure it out by themselves if they were going to get any closer to finding Cas.

Dean made for the door and positioned himself on the other side of the threshold. He gave Sam a look that said he should do the same and waited for his brother to come alongside him before swinging the door shut and rifling through his bag.

Sam's brow creased, but a knowing expression banished this as he watched the older Winchester retrieve a cantina of holy water and a carton of salt from his bag.

Sam stooped for the holy water whilst Dean laid a line of salt at the bottom of the door.

"You think this'll work?" Sam asked, standing and unscrewing the cap on the hipflask. He placed a thumb over the spout halfway and shook the opening at the wooden portal, coating the flaking paint with the holy water.

Dean shrugged and stood, getting out of the way of the water just in time. He began to shake the carton of salt at the door as well, watching with satisfaction as the crystals beaded in the water droplets. He dropped the now empty carton to the floor and reached for his sawn-off. He unhinged it and fed two new shells into the barrel.

_I hope so…_ Dean thought as he took aim at the door's handle and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Rachel's focus faltered as something tingled in her peripherals. She shot a sideways glance at the door to her right, but turned back to face Castiel as her hold on the angel's graced threatened to loosen itself.

She gritted her teeth and concentrated, telling herself that she was almost there. It was almost over. A few more seconds and she would be able to add another angel to her list of epitaphs.

_Just a few…more…seconds. _

Then, suddenly, a bright white light exploded to her right and the door fractured to reveal Sam and Dean Winchester.

She lost her grip on Castiel's grace and the river of light splintered in the middle. The half closest to the angel slithered back into his form but the other half drifted into the glass bubble. For this she was glad. She could always go back for the rest of it later, but at least she wouldn't have to start all over again.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, sliding the necklace back beneath her hoody for safe-keeping, before addressing the newcomers.

"Hello boys." She cooed, inwardly taking note of the slight shake in her voice. She figured it was a result of the veil having been broken. She continued, trying to keep the tremor at bay, "Come to join the party, have we?"

She gave an innocent wave and a genuine smile, but this became narrowed eyes and a scowl within a second.

Rachel knew the Winchesters would try to kill her as soon as they realised what she had done with their precious Angel of the Lord and she wasn't about to go down without a fight.

She hadn't wanted to kill them yet, she had wanted to have some fun, but if they weren't going to play along then she would have to change tack. After all, drastic times called for drastic measures and, as far as Rachel was concerned, Dean Winchester pointing a sawn off full of rock salt at her whilst Sam's grip tightened around the hilt of Ruby's knife, definitely constituted drastic times.


	15. Flicker

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this fan fiction. _

_**This Chapter was fun to write. Now to pile on the angst for the remaining chapters. Enjoy all!**_**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade. **

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**Chapter Fifteen: **

Harrowing.

That was the first word that leapt to Sam Winchester's mind as the demonic veil crumbled, along with the door at their assault.

A white light flickered and hissed as the dark magic was dispelled at the bidding of a cartridge of rock salt. After the explosion waned, all that lit the room was the flickering, amber aura of firelight, but this was enough for the Winchesters to take in the blood-curdling scene before them.

The stench of blood hummed in the air. There was a thick line of fire circling a large space in the centre of the room. More flames flickered within the circle and Sam made out expertly etched Enochian symbols within the three smaller burning sigils. The fire was beautiful and the symbols masterfully drawn in what Sam assumed was holy oil, judging by the terracotta urns on the table at the back of the room, and the almost malt-like scent, released into the air as the flames burned on.

Sam knew they had found Castiel, even though his gaze had yet to shift to his right. He bid his eyes fall to his left first and he took in the blotchy dark wood of the table, a myriad glistening weapons and devices scattered its surface. His stomach lurched as he took in slowly congealing blood on some of the instruments.

Panning across, Sam took in the girl standing within the florid orb, exhibiting confidence and annoyance.

This unnerved the younger Winchester. Her complacency suggested that she was unafraid of them. She thought she was safe and that meant she thought she was powerful. Sam wondered just how powerful she was.

His question was answered as his sweep of the room concluded with a broken and bloodied Castiel, restrained and exhausted, his head slumped forth, breathing shallow and barely there.

Instinctively, Sam's attention snapped sideways to look at his brother.

Dean's gaze immediately shot to Castiel. The older Winchester's expression was, at first, shock, but as his mind made sense of the sight he saw, this evolved. His eyes narrowed, his lips thinned and his jaw line rippled as he bit back the rage that bubbled beneath the surface. Dean was trying his hardest to remain calm, to wait for a signal that meant Sam was ready for a fight and had his back. His grip on the sawn-off tightened, turning his knuckles white and his body physically shook with the effort.

The older Winchester did not take his eyes off the angel; with each drop of the angel's suffering he drank in, his rage and thirst for vengeance grew stronger. And he was determined not to waste it.

The girl, or the demon, to the side of the room cleared her throat, causing the Winchesters' attention to fall on her.

"Are you two going to be much longer?" She asked in the same, all too confident voice. "Only, we were kind of in the middle of something." She shot Castiel a glance just to make it clear who she meant. This was followed by a smile in faux innocence.

Dean's only response was to twist the shotgun round to face the demon and squeeze the trigger.

Rachel flickered out of existence.

Dean inwardly cursed as the faulty TV effect ensconced the apparition. The boys pivoted in unison, sweeping the dimly lit room, surveying the chamber using only the light from the flames. Dean fed two more shells into his sawn off, deftly. His eyes flickered towards the unmoving angel, hoping that his stillness meant he was only unconscious.

His concentration was broken as something invisible charged into his chest, pinning him to the wall. The grip on his shot gun loosened and the firearm clattered to the floor, obeying the safety Dean had yet to release. The older Winchester strained against his unseen bindings as the demon came into view again, a self-satisfied smile on her face and a short, smug laugh in her throat.

Sam moved to assist his brother, charging forwards with Ruby's demon-killing blade in his hand. He was sure she couldn't see him, but after a few steps in her direction, Sam too, felt pressure on his chest and he found himself forced against the wall. He spared a moment to take in his position. He was the opposite side of the doorway to Dean, and facing one of the shorter edges of the table. Sam's eyes widened a little as the table crept closer to him, the legs screeching across the floor as it gathered momentum. He moaned as the thick wood connected with his stomach and knocked the breath out of him. Ruby's knife slipped from his grasp and ended up on the floor. Some of the instruments from the table joined it there, but most remained stuck to the dark wood, the coagulating plasma acting as an adhesive.

Instinctively, Sam's hands flew towards the table's edge, slowed but not entirely inhibited by the demon's telekinesis. His brow furrowed in disbelief and confusion and he shot a look in the demon's direction, just to see if she had taken in this small action.

To Sam's surprise, she was facing the other way, stepping slowly and dutifully over to Dean.

"Sit tight a moment will you, Sammy? The grown ups need to have a little chat." She called over her shoulder.

"No problem." The younger Winchester wheezed.

Dean watched as the girl's smile widened at Sam's comment.

"There's a good boy." She mewed, patronisingly.

The older Winchester tried to angle his head in the direction of his brother, but this was halted by a small, but forceful hand on his chin.

Rachel angled his head downwards and locked eyes with him. Dean noticed they were green, inwardly chiding himself that he had even bothered to take in their colour. He knew, underneath the girl she wore, her eyes were coal black.

Rachel smiled as if she were laying eyes on an old friend, even her tone of voice seemed inappropriately informal, "Don't you remember me, Dean?" She asked, a pleading stare occupying her emerald orbs, "You probably don't recognise me. Meat suits, eh? What a carry on."

She released him and took a step backwards. She pivoted, arms outstretched as if she were trying on a new dress and wanted a second opinion. When nothing came from her captive audience, her shoulders fell and she pouted melodramatically. She wiped at her eyes, dispelling non-existent tears in a further pantomime of mock sadness. "I'd have thought you'd have remembered me, Dean. After all the fun we had together…" She let her voice trail off, smiling demurely and examining her cuticles, like a teenage girl being hit on by her crush.

Dean's expression remained hard and unforgiving but for a second this was replaced with realisation and recognition.

"Rachel." He hissed, his eyes narrowing involuntarily.

"Bingo!" the demon shrieked, her hands clasping in front of her, her face the epitome of childish glee.

Sam jumped at the shrillness of her voice. Castiel remained comatose. Dean's expression darkened, the penny dropping with an ear-piercing, resounding clang.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you didn't recognise me, first of all." She gave a shrug of her shoulders, "After all, I've come a long way since the last time you saw me."

With this, Rachel stepped over to Castiel, studying him as if he were a work of art, a priceless exhibit in a gallery. She even folded her arms and tapped a finger against her chin in mock deliberation.

After a moment, she reached out the hand at her chin and smoothed some of the angel's dishevelled hair from his face, tenderly. She did not flinch at it's slickness; the grease was a by product of sweat, agitated by the blood that matted it. Some of it was his, some of it was demon blood.

"I mean, who'd have thought I'd be strong enough to do away with angels."

"He's not dead." Dean interrupted, in an attempt to convince himself as much as anything. He was trying his hardest to keep his voice still and steady but was failing miserably.

Rachel did not turn to Dean, continuing instead to stare at Castiel. She removed her hand from his head and smeared blood on her jeans. She resumed her art-critic pose, adding a slight tilt of her head to the act.

"No…" She offered thoughtfully, "No…not quite yet…But I _have_ killed angels before, Dean." Her attention flickered back to him, "And just think, if it weren't for _him_-" She nodded in Castiel's direction, "You might have learned how to, as well."

Dean opened his mouth to speak but Rachel cut him off, knowing protestations were imminent.

"Don't give me all that bullshit, Dean. I know, back then you didn't even know angels existed, granted. But don't even try to tell me that you didn't want to kill a few of them after they made themselves known to you. You did, didn't you?" She strode over to him, ignoring the ring of fire again, "I can see it, Dean…" She began to count names on her fingertips, "You wanted Zachariah dead, Uriel, even Anna…You even thought of how you'd like to kill Castiel, didn't you?"

Dean's expression betrayed him. He shook his head but his widened eyes were all the ammunition Rachel required. Her smile widened as she drank in the beauty of the human's denial. She watched as Dean's glanced to Castiel, a suddenly terrified look in his eyes, lest the angel have heard Rachel.

"You wanted him dead. For the sake of all those humans on that Halloween. To stop the rising of Samhain, Castiel and Uriel were prepared to lay waste to that entire town. I know what you thought about him, then…you were prepared to use any means necessary to stop him."

Dean shook his head. Rachel nodded hers.

She opened her mouth to speak, an evil smile spreading across her lips.

Then, just as she was about to chide the older Winchester for lying to her, a dull thud put an end to her resolve. Her smile faded. A gurgle bubbled in her throat and hesitantly she looked down.

A long silver blade jutted from her torso. It stuck out at a strange angle as if it had been thrown with very little thought as to its point of origin. She reached behind her, gripping the hilt of the blade with a trembling hand. She grimaced and swallowed back blood as she slowly slid the Enochian steel from her chest. She brought it up in front of her to examine it.

It was her first piece of Enochian steel. She hadn't smelted this one and turned it into anything else. This one, as far as she was concerned, was the original. To forge this into anything else would be blasphemy. It was her favourite.

Now, any sentimentality she held for the blade was slowly ebbing away with her vessel's life-force and she dropped it to the ground almost without a second thought. Rachel pivoted as quickly as she could to face Sam. He had thrown the blade and now he would pay. She could feel herself weaken. She was losing her hold on the Winchesters.

She focused on Sam; if she couldn't kill both of them, she would settle for one.

Rachel forced Sam back against the wall using all the energy she could muster. She felt her grip on Dean's bindings fail and knew she had almost no time at all to make her move. She lunged at Sam who reached for another weapon from his inherited arsenal. His hand stopped centimetres away from a vicious looking dagger, bloody at the tip. He fought against it, but to no avail.

Dean felt the invisible hold on him loosen and seized the opportunity as Rachel lunged for his brother. He gathered up his sawn off and aimed it at the demon. Rachel heard the safety click off. It was a slight noise but she still picked it up.

Dean squeezed the trigger. Rachel vanished appearing to her left, a little closer to her target. The rock salt hit her square in the back. A scream escaped her lips, but this was more anger than pain. She turned leapt at the older Winchester, breath rattling in the attempt at ignoring the salt burrowing into her stolen body. Dean received the demon with flared nostrils and a murderous glare. He looked over her shoulder and for a moment the pair looked as if they might have been in the midst of a tender embrace were it not for the Winchester's expression. Rachel flickered, the demon inside of the vessel crackled, spluttered and died as the blade of Ruby's knife sheathed itself in her stomach. Dean only released the girl when her resistance vanished and her eyes rolled back in her head. The body slumped to the floor.

Dean looked to his brother, who was pushing the table away from him. Sam took a breath to steady himself.

"You alright?" Dean asked, concerned for his brother's well-being. Sam gave a nod but clutched at his stomach nevertheless. He tested the bruising there, gingerly, but straightened up when he realised he'd had much worse.

Dean was upon Castiel in a heartbeat, tugging at the thick leather straps that bound him to the stretcher. Sam came alongside his brother, taking up a blade from the floor.

The older Winchester cut away methodically with Ruby's blade and within a short while the device surrendered the bloodied angel.

Sam removed his jacket and checked shirt, laying them on the cold floor to received A naked Castiel and, once the angel was suitably positioned upon the makeshift bedroll, Dean surrendered his own jacket and over shirt, draping them over him.

For moments the boys knelt, shivering against the sudden chill in the air, regarding Castiel with pity and hope. They both wanted him to just wake up and say he was fine. They both wished it was merely some hellish nightmare they had suddenly found themselves sharing.

Sam made a mental list of everything they had eaten that day and African dream root was not on the list at all. And Castiel just didn't eat or drink so there was no way he could have ingested it.

Their hearts simultaneously sunk.

"This is messed up." Dean choked, hands itching to reach out and try to revive the angel. He stopped himself, taking in the steady (if shallow) rise and fall of his chest.

Sam stared at Castiel for what seemed like an age, awaiting a twitch or something that would let them know he was still alright.

"He's still alive, Dean." The younger Winchester offered, not sure if this meant much. Yes, Castiel was still alive, or at least his vessel was, but he was broken. Whatever it was Rachel had done to him, she had done it well and she had been thorough.

Sam shot a sideways glance to his brother whose eyes did not leave Castiel for even a second. After a moment of silence and knowing that Dean was too lost in thought to acknowledge his statement, Sam stood, teasing his phone from his jeans pocket.

"I'll ring Bobby, see if he's got any contacts in the area who can give us a lift back to the motel." He informed, punching in the number and leaving the room.

Sam knew this was their only option. They couldn't call a cab and even much less the police. The Winchesters were not ones to answer the questions of stuck up law-enforcement officers who assumed that just because they wore a uniform, they knew absolutely everything there was to know about, well…everything. And, in all honesty, Sam really had no desire to attempt to explain their need to get a naked, beaten and bloodied man back to a shifty hotel instead of taking him to a hospital.

His heart skipped a beat as Bobby's familiar gruff voice greeted him.

"Yeah, sorry, Bobby." Sam offered, hope etching itself into his brow as the older hunter took in the worry in his tone and softened his own.

"We need your help…No, I'm fine a-and Dean's fine…" He let his voice trail off, realising that this conversation was beginning in pretty much the same way as his earlier phone call to Dean.

"…It's Cas." He offered. He could almost feel Bobby's frown in confusion through the receiver.

* * *

**_So the Winchesters have rescued Cas, but will the angel ever recover from his run-in with Alastair's protege? Will the boys be able to help him and return him to some semblance of the Castiel they knew before? That is, assuming he survives his trauma, of course...Mwa ha ha ha ha!_**


	16. Save Us

_I do not own any of the Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this Fanfic. Likewise, I do not own the Supernatural show itself. _

**_Ooh, lucky you. My muse struck last night when I was supposed to be asleep and I found myself writing yet another chapter for this Fanfiction. Hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to review._**

* * *

_**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**_

_**Chapter Sixteen: Save Us.**_

_Sam rounded the door frame, his focus held by the backlit screen of his mobile phone. He didn't want to look away from it, he didn't want to remind himself of the scene. After a few moments a murmur from Dean caught his attention and he forced his gaze away from the cell, stowing the device in his jeans pocket again. He drew in a breath which rattled slightly with the chill in the air and stepped over to his brother. This time, though, he remained standing, digging his hands into his pockets. _

_At first, his gaze found Castiel; he was still breathing, which was good, but likewise he hadn't moved a muscle and this was bad. Then, as he surveyed the room with disgust, his eyes came to rest upon the stretcher the angel had been bound to. His eyes narrowed in scrutiny as he took in several razors welded to the structure, each one glinting red with Castiel's blood. Sam's stomach lurched._

"_What did Bobby say?" Dean asked suddenly, realising his first attempt at the question had obviously been too quiet for his brother to hear._

"_Um…" The younger Winchester faltered, clearing his throat to organise his thoughts, "He says he knows a guy in the area. He's gonna come get us." _

_Dean nodded in satisfaction and pushed himself up from his crouch. Sam thought he saw something moist and occasionally amber in the firelight, flicker on Dean's cheek as he moved to stand, but he made a conscious effort to ignore it. _

_Dean stepped towards the array of fallen instruments of torture, tilting his head to look at them better. He stooped to pick up one that had somehow ended up a little way away from the others. It was a small box with a lever on each of the longest sides. His brow furrowed and tentatively he squeezed the two triggers, in hope that this would cause the trinket to reveal it's purpose. The underside of the box thrust a series of miniscule circular blades forward, from its once smooth surface. _

_The older Winchester raised an eyebrow and brought the box upwards to examine it. It appeared that the blades were detachable, design to lodge themselves in the flesh of their victim. He grimaced as he imagined the tiny discs burying themselves in Castiel's flesh. They were designed to be very difficult to get out, a perfect device for torture. Dean knew that the small box was made for angels and guessed that this, and the other instruments, were made from the same metal. He had recognised the blade Sam had thrown at Rachel. It looked like the one he had killed Zachariah with and Dean knew that this was the only weapon with even a snowball's chance of killing angels._

_His mind wandered, subconsciously piecing together the puzzle. Rachel had said she had killed other angels before, so it stood to reason that she would then use their blades to make new weapons. She must have forged herself an arsenal of instruments designed, solely, for use on the soldiers of God. _

_There were pieces of the puzzle still missing , however. And one of them was that, if it were the case that Rachel had forged herself instruments of torture from the blades salvaged from dead angels, then what had killed the first angel? It could only have been an Enochian blade, right? So where had it come from? _

_Dean pocketed the small cuboid and then turned to pick up the blade that Sam had thrown. A line of symbols, indecipherable to the Winchester, graced the length of the blade, collecting clotting blood. He imagined the symbols were Enochian and he couldn't help but wonder what they said. _

_Sam was standing by the stretcher now, examining the razors. He scraped a forefinger across the edge of one and wiped the consequential smear of blood, collected on his fingertip onto his jeans, subconsciously. _

_He swallowed hard._

"_Dean…" He breathed, waiting for his brother to stand aside him before he continued, "These are Enochian." He pointing out the unique shine to the blades._

"_Evil bitch." Dean growled. _

_Sam looked to him, suddenly concerned. _

"_She adapted it for them…For him." _

_Sam knew better than to probe for answers, the decision to back off strengthened by the darkness in Dean's eyes. The younger Winchester hadn't missed the conversation between the demon and his brother, knowing in his gut that they knew each other from hell. _

_Dean still didn't talk much about his tour down there. Sam had picked up on bits and pieces through the nightmares Dean still had sometimes, but he knew it was a sensitive subject and knew better than to aggravate the situation with selfish interrogation. _

_For moments, the boys were transfixed, hypnotised by the dancing flames reflecting in the blood-stained razors, twin expressions of guilt and rage and overwhelming anxiety at the thought that Castiel would not be alright after all, painted on their features. _

_Then, Sam's attention flew to the open door as the horn of a car echoed in the distance. He was at the threshold in a heartbeat, turning at the last second to his brother, who remained still and unmoving. _

"_I'll stay." Was all the older Winchester offered. _

_Sam vanished down the corridor with a nod. _

_Dean turned back to the centre of the room, trying not to let his gaze fall on the broken angel. His stomach twisted with every look in Castiel's direction. Part of Dean wanted to look at him, to take the guilt as punishment for letting the angel, his _angel, end up like this in the first place. He should have known what Cas was up to the moment he changed his mind in the motel room, the moment he vetoed taking the Impala, the moment he let himself fall behind as Sam and Dean started towards the wrong building. He had been ignorant, he had been stupid and blind. And now…Now Castiel was laying naked, beaten, bloodied and unconscious on the floor of some dump in the middle of nowhere.

Dean's vision misted as he forced his line of sight downwards. Castiel didn't look like Castiel anymore. His face bruised and fissured, streaked with snail-trails of crimson. Normally, his hair was the perfect combination of clean, yet purposefully dishevelled, but now it clumped together with blood, greasy and slick with sweat. Dean was glad the angel's nudity was covered; he was glad he couldn't see the full extent of Rachel's torture.

With a shake of his head, Dean turned away, taking up his bag from the side of the room-where it had somehow ended up-and stuffing the foreign instruments into the duffle. He was careful to get everything, his jaw line rippling in concentration as he gathered up devices that added more knots to his insides. He was determined to safeguard them. If he had his way, then no one would ever use these instruments again. Ever.

It was true, most angels were absolute dicks, but not Cas…And if these devices were left behind and they fell into the wrong hands then there was a chance that those hands might take up the instruments against said angel. Dean simply was not going to allow that to happen. Castiel had suffered enough and Dean was going to make sure that nothing like this, ever happened to him again.

Once the floor and table were clear of the arsenal, the older Winchester surveyed the room, lest he leave something behind.

A thought crossed his mind and he turned to the lifeless demon. Rage ensconced him again and he knelt beside her, groping with shaking hands at the hoody the girl wore, breaking the zip to get at what was beneath it. The jersey material peeled away reluctantly from the congealing stomach wound.

He flicked the sides of the hoody open and his gaze fell upon just the thing he had been looking for. Rachel had been holding something when the Winchesters had broken down her demonic barrier and entered the room. Dean had not seen it properly (his focus had been mostly held by Castiel), but she had definitely been holding something. He could remember the stream of shimmering, multi-coloured light that was -he assumed- Castiel's grace, cracking in the middle as the barrier crumbled and Rachel was distracted. The half closest to the angel had flowed back into him, but the rest…the rest had slithered towards the demon, towards her hand clutching something bound to a chain which was draped around her neck.

The older Winchester took note of the same pulsing light as it swirled within the glass bubble at the girl's chest.

Dean reached forward, taking the pendant up with finger and thumb, studying it dubiously. He had no doubt that it was powerful, but it was beautiful, all the same. After a few seconds, Dean tugged the chain from the demon's neck and wrapped it, carefully, around the bubble, sliding it into the bag, also.

Looking up for anything he'd missed, the Winchester noticed the urns on the table and made to retrieve them, before being interrupted by the sound of laboured footsteps along the corridor outside.

Within moments Sam appeared in the doorway, burdened by a heavy looking rucksack and a pile of blankets. He entered the room, followed by a broad man who clutched a carrier bag in one of his giant hands and a can of gasoline in the other. He laid the can by the door and stopped beside Sam, regarding the scene before him with something that was not quite surprise but not quite comprehension either.

Dean stood and moved towards the stranger. He looked him up and down for a moment, not being able to escape the feeling that the man was eerily familiar.

Dean offered a hand in greeting, figuring manners would not go amiss here. After all, they had just dragged this man out into the middle of nowhere in the wee hours of the morning and he didn't even know them. Yet he was willing to help, to lend a hand, to save them and, for this, Dean was truly grateful.

The stranger accepted Dean's hand and shook it, "I was just saying to your brother here, how I figured you were hunters when I first saw you." The stranger offered in a tone tainted by the solemnity of the situation, "Gabe Matheson." he surrendered, trying to give a smile but failing.

"Dean Winchester." Dean replied, recognition dawning for, at least, the second time that night. Dean suddenly pictured the unshaven man sitting behind the wheel of an ancient Buick as he drove them up the dirt path towards the warehouse.

Gabe nodded towards the unconscious form, "And I'm going to hazard a guess that that's Castiel…" Gabe watched as the man before him gave something of a sad nod and stopped himself from commenting on the exotic sounding name. He also stopped himself from commenting on the body of the girl across the room from them. The Winchesters didn't seem to be paying the corpse much heed and Gabe figured that she probably hadn't been an ally.

Dean heaved a sigh and offered a reluctant smile, "Thanks for helping us out."

Gabe shrugged and moved towards the unconscious form of Castiel, bag still creased in his grip. The man knelt beside him, gesturing that Sam should come forward with the blankets. The younger Winchester obeyed.

"'s the least I can do." He stated distantly, rolling back the jacket and shirt draped over the angel, grimacing at how the cloth clung to the sticky patches and resisted his tugging.

He shook his head and continued, "Bobby and I go back a while."

Dean watched the stranger attentively for any hint of a wrong move. Gabe seemed legitimate, but he wasn't about to take any chances when Castiel's life was hanging in the balance.

_Something I should have realised earlier…_ Dean scolded himself.

His concentration was broken as Sam dropped the rucksack from his shoulder with a weighted _CLUNK _and dove into it. He pulled out two small gasoline cans from the bag and slid one towards Dean.

The older Winchester took up the can nearest to him and unscrewed the cap, taking a hesitant sniff. It was water.

Knowing what was expected of him, Dean began to dowse the florid circle whilst Sam started on the smaller sigils.

When they had finished and the flames spelling Castiel's prison were extinguished, both Winchesters turned their attentions to Gabe.

Almost as if he knew he was being watched, the man turned to them with a sigh.

"He's too badly wounded for me to do anything for him here." He stated resignedly, tucking a blanket the colour of dirt around the still form, "Now, I know you said you didn't want to take him to a hospital-""We can't." Sam interrupted.

Gabe shot a bewildered, and slightly worried expression, in the direction of the younger Winchester.

Dean swallowed and offered an explanation, "It's not that we don't want to help him…"

_Because we do…we really do…I do…_

"It's just that…he's…not a hunter."

Gabe stared towards Castiel, something akin to awe spreading across his face as if this might be his first encounter with something not entirely human.

"What is he then?" Gabe asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Sam grimaced, knowing the man probably would not believe a word of the truth. Dean stared blankly ahead, offering the answer to Gabe's question, "He's an angel."

Gabe's eyes widened and he suddenly seemed to take on a more graceful and delicate demeanour.

Dean and Sam exchanged glances and then moved towards Castiel, leaning down to pick him up. Gabe helped, draping blankets over the angel ceremoniously to hide his injuries and his modesty.

Sam helped Dean carry Castiel out of the room. Gabe gathered up the Winchester's bags and the carrier bag. He gave the room a final sweep and managed to squeeze two of the urns into the rucksack Sam had carried the cans of water through in. Then when he was sure the room was empty save for the body of the girl-whom he assumed had been the one responsible for the harm done to Castiel-the table and the restraining device, Gabe took up the gasoline can and unscrewed the cap. He shook it and fuel splashed to the floor by the door. He walked slowly backwards, trailing a line thin line behind him as he made his way down to the next landing after the hunters and the angel.

When his can was empty, he sought out another positioned to the side of the staircase, repeating the process until they were on the ground floor and heading for the door. He set the gas can down momentarily to hold the door open for the Winchesters, but then picked it up again, resuming to draw out the line as he exited the building. A few yards from the warehouse, the fuel in the can ran out and Gabe tossed the container towards the building, seeking out a box of matches from his jeans pocket. He struck one and let it fall. The resulting flame retraced Gabe's steps and slither back towards the building. The man watched until the fire hit the door and then turned towards his car which was parked far enough away to not be at risk from the flames.

He moved towards Sam and Dean who were struggling to manoeuvre the limp form onto the back seat. He round the car and opened the door at the other side, gripping the angel's shoulders and sliding him further onto the seat. The Winchesters shot him simultaneous, grateful expressions.

After readjusting the blankets around Cas, Dean walked round to the open door Gabe held, sliding himself carefully into the seat. He twisted, delicately moving the angel's head and shoulders onto his leg for support. He grimaced and looked down at him, his eyes drowning in guilt and pity.

The door thudded shut behind him, but he made no move at the pressure on his back. He watched from the corner of his eye, a dusty rectangle catching his attention with a slight _POP_ as Sam and Gabe stowed the bags in the Buick's trunk, clicking it shut afterwards.

Frantic eyes turned forwards suddenly as Sam folded himself into the passenger's seat whilst Gabe took his place at the wheel, car door slamming behind them.

The younger Winchester twisted in his seat, unknowingly mimicking his brother's earlier movement. The brothers shared a look as the engine started and the car rumbled down the dirt track.

They both knew what the other was asking and knew what each would reply…

_I hope he's going to be Ok…_

_Yeah, me too._


	17. Distraction

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this fan fiction. _

**_Ok, so this is a bit short and there's not a lot in it, admittedly, but I had the vague idea and wrote it out and liked how it fitted in. It is a bit of a distraction and is a bit of a road block on the way to a lot of Dean and Cas angst in the upcoming chapters, but hopefully it works and you'll see what I was trying to do...Enjoy, please! _**

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**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Seventeen: Distraction.**

For a long while, the car was painfully silent. Gabe eased the Buick down the dirt track as slowly and carefully as he could. The path was riddled with potholes and with each one he didn't manage to avoid, he inwardly winced, his gaze flicking absent-mindedly to the rear view mirror. He expected to be met with an angered expression with every glance to the back of the car as Dean chided him for not being careful enough with his driving. However, there came no such look. The Winchester's eyes never moved from Castiel.

Sam seemed oblivious to the affect the well-weathered road surface had on the car, as well. His gaze was also transfixed, but not by the angel. His focus was held by the burning building behind them. He watched it through the rear windscreen, a dreaming thoughtful look on his face as if he believed the flames had the power to cleanse or heal or turn back time and was merely waiting for the magic to begin.

Gabe slid his left hand along the panel of his door and located the handle that wound the window down. He turned it anti-clockwise and opened it an inch or so.

The Winchesters remained silent, distant and uninterested in anything that didn't concern Castiel.

Gabe watched as Dean shuddered a little with the chill in the air and made to reach for the handle again.

"Leave it open…" Started Dean. He took a deep breath and allowed himself to relax a little. After all, Cas was safe now and as soon as he was rested he would be as good as new, right? Dean would help him as best he could and in time Cas would be back to normal and they could put the whole ugly mess behind them. There was nothing he could do for the angel at the moment, except maybe just to let him sleep.

Gabe's hand slunk away from the lever, obediently.

"The fresh air'll do us good." Sam agreed, somewhat distantly, turning to face the front of the car and allowing himself to relax also. He had been on edge from the moment they had found Rachel's makeshift torture chamber, watching Dean attentively all the while. Now his brother seemed to be looking hopeful and he could see the muscles in his face and shoulders relax a little. And now that Dean was growing calmer, he could calm down too.

For a few seconds the vehicle surrendered to silence again, but then Dean broke it, desperate for a distraction.

"So, how'd you know Bobby? You a hunter as well?"

Gabe gave a shrug of his broad shoulders and shook his head, attempting a short laugh in reminiscence.

"That's kinda the same story." The unshaven man offered, eventually, untangling a giant hand from the steering wheel and scratching at his beard. "It's quite a long story too." he added.

Dean gave an awkward shrug of his shoulders; the action had been instinctual and he hadn't been able to stop himself in time. About halfway through the shrug he remembered the comatose angel and softened the movement, careful not to disturb him.

"We're not going any-"

The conclusion to the sentence flew from Dean's mind as he turned his attention back to Castiel, inwardly cursing himself that he had shifted his gaze from him in the first place.

For a second he thought he had caught movement in the corner of his eye. He thought he had seen the flash of blue as the angel attempted to open his eyes.

"Cas?" The older Winchester croaked in a tone that gorged itself on the his optimism.

Sam spun round in his seat, almost giving himself whiplash in the process. A dull ache in his stomach reminded him that manoeuvres such as that one were forbidden for the time being. Sam ignored it, however, kneeling on the car seat and leaning on the back of the chair to get a better look at the waking angel.

Gabe also made to look round but turned back instantaneously as the Buick rolled into and out of another pothole.

"Cas…Wake up." Dean hissed, trying to get the beaten creature's attention. It worked.

Castiel's azure eyes snapped open, but they were drowning in panic, bloodshot and erratically shifting about him. They stopped for a mere second on Dean's face and the older Winchester smiled to him, subconsciously reaching out for the angel's shoulder. Castiel's eyes displayed his terror for all to see; the whites around his irises seemed to brighten and grow, forcing the piercing blue colour that usually held focus, to diminish.

Dean frowned and reached his other hand out for Castiel's shoulder as well, in an attempt to calm him.

This seemed to have the opposite effect, however.

As soon as Dean's fingertips brushed against the angel's bruised and tender flesh, Castiel vanished.

"Stop the car!" Sam barked, taking in the sudden absence of Castiel, leaving the older Winchester on the back seat alone, bewildered, shocked and betrayed.

The Buick skidded to a halt, sending a dust cloud floating into the air, a mirror image of the pillar of smoke billowing from the florid warehouse in the distance.

Dean, Sam and Gabe threw the doors open in one simultaneous heartbeat. For a second or two they peered into the darkness, searching in the low light afforded by the distant bonfire, to no avail.

Dean rounded the car and tried the boot.

"Gabe!" He called, impatiently when he found it was locked.

The older man reached back into the car, switched off the ignition, slid the keys from the steering column and tossed them to Dean.

The older Winchester caught them in his left hand, proceeding to open the trunk and retrieve his torch from his bag. He took out Sam's as well and threw it to his younger brother.

Dean and Sam flicked the switch on their torches simultaneously, throwing synchronised beams of light into the wasteland around them.

Dean was searching around desperately, sweeping the torchlight in an arc about his person with a little too much haste.

Sam took a more thorough approach, employing slower sweeping motions.

"Maybe he got out of the area." Gabe suggested, "I mean, you said he was an angel, right? Maybe he went…you know…home."

Dean shook his head in response, "Trust me, Gabe…he didn't go home."

He swung the beam of light to the left, his heart skipping a beat as he took in something solid and upright. In the dark, it looked like a person standing, however, as Dean shifted the spotlight upwards he realised it was only a tree.

Resignedly, he dropped the beam and moved to turn away, but something caught his eye in the grass at the foot of the sapling.

"Sam." Dean started in the direction of the shape with a nod. Sam moved calmly to stand in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean, maybe you'd better stay with the car…" He suggested, watching his brother employ a disbelieving smirk and then, a determined frown as the younger Winchester made no attempt to move out of his way.

"Let go of me, Sammy." Dean warned.

Sam shook his head, "I think it's for the be-"

Dean rolled his eyes and interrupted, "Bull. I'm going to get Cas. Now, get out of my way."

Sam felt pressure under his hand as Dean went to take a step forward. The younger Winchester slid his hand down and placed it flat against his brother's chest plate. Dean raised an eyebrow and squared up to him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sam interrupted him this time.

"Think about it, Dean. He's obviously traumatised, he's been through-"

"He's scared of you." Gabe cut in.

Dean narrowed his eyes at their supposed ally and subconsciously squared up to him. Sam turned to the older man as well, shooting him a warning look.

Gabe seemingly ignored this, much to Sam's dismay.

"I mean, he…zapped off, or whatever when he woke up and saw you…"

The older Winchester swapped a look that said is-this-guy-for-real? For a shrug of Sam's shoulders as he agreed with Gabe.

Dean sighed, resignedly.

"Fine." He spat, "I'll wait in the damn car." He threw his torch into the foot well of the front passenger's seat with a little more force than was absolutely necessary. He figured that he would be allocated this seat for the remainder of the journey, as a result of Castiel's sudden aversion to him.

He watched as Gabe took off in the direction of the sprawled unconscious form. Sam followed but took a moment to spare Dean an empathetic, pitying smile.

Dean folded his arms like a child throwing a strop and leant against the Buick's right wing. He continued to watch as his brother and the stranger manoeuvred Castiel back onto the bench seat and Sam squeezed himself into the small space that wasn't occupied by the angel.

Gabe climbed back into the driver's seat. Dean folded himself into the spare front seat and surrendered the Buick's keys. Gabe slid the key into the ignition and started the engine.

Dean watched Cas and Sam in the rear view mirror. He didn't understand what had just happened. He didn't understand the reason behind Castiel's sudden desire to escape his presence.

This behaviour was a complete contrast to when Cas had woken up back at the motel; back then, he had seemed happy to see him, taking comfort in the constants that were the Winchester brothers. But now, Castiel had endangered his life in trying to escape in his weakened state and Dean couldn't fathom why.

These thoughts occupied Dean's mind for almost the entire journey to the motel.

* * *

_**Oh and just a thank you note to all of you who have reviewed so far. Just know that I do intend to give you all proper acknowledgement when this story is finished, but for now, I'd like to just offer general gratefulness! :P**_


	18. Morning Light

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the supernatural characters I may use or mention in this fanfic. I think people would start sending me death threats if I did…lol _

**_I am so sorry! This is for two reasons; Firstly, I am so sorry that this took so long to write (I won't bore you with excuses...) and, secondly, I still haven't gotten to Castiel waking up. I just thought I ought to include this bit first and then I thought, 'Hey, where's Crowley?' so I wrote him a bit too...I am planning to do something with him though so don't just think I threw him in there for the sake of it. Sorry again guys, hopefully the next chapter will be better :P_**

**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Morning Light.**

It was nearing dawn by the time the Buick pulled into the motel parking lot, but it was still dark enough that transporting an unconscious Castiel from the car to the room would go relatively unnoticed.

Unknowingly, Gabe pulled into the parking space beside Dean's impala and the three conscious persons climbed from the vehicle.

Sam was careful not to disturb Castiel as he edged from the back seat. For moments the trio merely stood, trying to work out the best way to proceed. Then with a glance at the rapidly lightening sky, all the while glad that they had managed to procure a ground floor room, Sam approached the door.

He dug in his pockets for the key. Habitually-and rather luckily for the Winchesters, considering the circumstances-Sam had grabbed the room key before they had boarded the 'angel express' to the wrong building.

The younger Winchester left the portal to swing open and he turned back, heading for the back seat of the Buick.

Gabe chucked Dean the car keys and reluctantly, the older Winchester made for the trunk. He didn't want to be the pit pony and carry the bags; he wanted to help carry Cas, to make sure he was alright, to see that he was properly accommodated in the room. He trusted Sammy and, to an extent, he trusted Gabe, as well-the man _had_ just driven out to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere just to give them a lift back to their motel and all because they knew Bobby and needed help-but Dean wasn't sure he trusted either of them enough to take proper care of the angel.

With a sigh that was a mixture of resignation and frustration, Dean popped the boot and proceeded to gather up the bags. He could carry them all at once, he was sure of it.

As he stared into the tangled mass of canvas and cotton, occupying the space before him, his thoughts turned to how selfish he was being. Yes, Castiel had tried to escape from him in the car, but that didn't mean anything. He might have tried the same thing if it had been Sam on the back seat. There was no evidence to suggest that the reaction had been solely to Dean's presence; Rachel had tortured the angel, he was bound to be a little messed up, right?

It could have been anything; he could have sensed the third person, he could have been in the midst of a nightmarish replay and was seeing things, it could have even been something as insignificant as the smell of the car, unfamiliarity summoning panic.

The Winchester forced himself to relax, swinging the last of the bags over his left shoulder and elbowing the boot shut.

Dean assumed Sam and Gabe had made their way into the room with Castiel, since they were nowhere to be seen and the back seat of the car was unoccupied. He set a determined look on his features and walked, as quickly as his now weighted gait would allow, into the room. He subconsciously kicked the door shut behind him, grimacing as it slammed against the frame.

Sam shot his brother sudden panicked eyes, but these returned their focus to the angel as Gabe helped him lower the limp form onto one of the beds.

Dean let the bags fall from his shoulders and lay haphazardly near the small table. He crossed the room without a second thought and, for a long while, all three conscious men stood around Castiel's bed, staring to the broken angel, hope and pity holding theirs features.

Each man knew what the others were thinking; there was guilt there (even Gabe felt it, wishing he had gone to help the Winchesters when he had dropped them off at the factory building. He couldn't help but think that if he had gone with them they might have found the angel sooner and the damage would have been lessened.), there was pain, empathy, pity, anger and, above all, there was disbelief.

Gabe didn't want to believe the man before him was an angel, he didn't want to believe that angels could be hurt like this, that they could even look like this.

Sam couldn't bring himself to believe that it was actually Castiel lying in front of him, either. There weren't any demons out there powerful enough to kill angels, surely. There just couldn't be. Rachel had to have been something else, a one of a kind remnant of a species extinct. There was no way she was a demon, because if she was then maybe there were others out there like her and that meant that the angel up their sleeve was just as vulnerable as the Winchesters.

And Dean…Dean couldn't believe that Castiel was scared of him, it was an insane notion. Castiel had raised him from hell, he was an angel, angels weren't meant to be scared of anything, much less the person they disobey their orders for. But that look that had crossed Castiel's face in the car had been nothing short of sheer terror and Dean wasn't sure he could bare to know why.

After what seemed like an age, Gabe broke away from the unintended semi-circle, giving a sad sigh and a shake of his head. Sam broke his focus as well, staring after their new ally, watching him cross the room to the pile of bags. After a lingering glance at Castiel, Dean too turned towards Gabe, crossing the room and sorting out the older man's bags from their own.

After a while, Gabe slung a rucksack over his shoulder, and swept the remaining bags with his gaze, lest he leave anything behind. Dean went to hand him the plastic bag but Gabe shook his head.

"That stuff might help." He stated finally, sparing the comatose angel a nod. The older Winchester gave a nod of his own and placed the bag back down on the table.

Gabe held his hand out. Dean took and shook it, genuine gratitude in his eyes.

"Thanks again, for helping us out, Gabe." The older Winchester gushed.

Gabe gave a smile and another shrug of his shoulders, "Like I said, s'no problem."

The broad man released Dean's hand and held it out for Sam, instead. The younger Winchester leapt at it, treating Gabe to his trademark crooked smile, "Thank you so much."

Another shrug of his shoulders was Gabe's response. Releasing Sam's hand, Gabe pivoted and made for the door. He halted, as a thought crossed his mind, and turned towards the dining table. Peeping out from under a few bags that had ended up on the table during the sorting, was a glossy leaflet. He didn't bother to read what it said as he slid it out a little way.

"You got a pen?" He requested. Sam stepped forward, rifling through his pockets. After a few seconds he handed Gabe a biro, frowning a little as he did so.

Gabe accepted the item with a nod and proceeded to write something down on the leaflet.

"s' my number, give me a call if you need to." He straightened up and handed the pen back to Sam, "Bobby's got it 'a course, but I thought you two ought to have it."

The Winchesters were silent as they watched their new ally cross the space to the door. He opened it and stepped over the threshold with a wave. Sam and Dean waved back.

Within seconds Gabe was gone, closing the door behind him. Dean listened as the Buick's door creaked open, reminding him a little of the Impala, and then after a few seconds the badly tuned engine of the ancient automobile rattled into life. He vowed that next time he was ever in the area he'd give Gabe's car a good once over, partly as a gesture of gratitude but, mostly due to Dean's annoyance at how badly Gabe was treating the vehicle.

_Poor thing…_ Dean found himself thinking, grimacing as his brain then made the jump to the other injured creature in the vicinity.

Sam was already at the angel's side, peeling back the dun blanket and grimacing as the fabric ripped scabs and congealing blood from the wounds beneath. He swallowed hard as he took in the full extent of Rachel's torture. It had been hard to see back at the warehouse and Sam almost found himself wishing they were back there just so that he couldn't see the state of the angel, now.

His torso was criss-crossed with deep fissures of various lengths, there was barely a scrap of clean skin visible amidst the snail-trails of blood and the smatter of dirt that was the result of the angel's ill-conceived escape attempt.

Framing each gash was a smear of blackish blue. Sam knew this would be the result of broken blood vessels beneath the skin and absent-mindedly he swallowed and spared the angel an empathetic smile.

Dean found himself watching from across the room. He wanted to help, but at the same time found himself hesitant to approach Castiel, wondering whether, if the angel woke up, he would provoke the same reaction from him as earlier.

Sam looked across to him suddenly with a thoughtful frown, "What's in the carrier bag?" He asked.

That had not been the question Dean had expected, but instead of commenting on it, he began to sort through its contents.

It looked to Dean, that Gabe had thrown together an improvised first aid kit. There were a few unopened dressings, a roll of bandages, a small box of safety pins, a roll of masking tape and a small, cheap bottle of unbranded vodka. Dean raised an eyebrow, fishing the vodka out of the bag. He figured it was supposed to be in place of rubbing alcohol, but he held it up for Sam to see, a half-hearted smirk present on his features.

Sam's frown deepened and a bewildered, "Seriously?" escaped his lips.

Dean's face fell serious and he shook his head, "Looks like a first aid kit."

The older Winchester gathered up the bag and crossed the room at a nod from Sam. He moved to stand at his brother's shoulder and handed him the makeshift medical kit.

Sam emptied the contents onto the bed, examining them dubiously. He frowned and gave a sigh. It had been a good idea and a nice thought of Gabe's, but looking from the bag's contents to Castiel, Sam was sure that nothing in the bag would help them much.

With a shake of his head, Sam unscrewed the cap on the vodka and ripped a clean enough piece of cloth from the checked shirt he had donated to Cas, earlier. He wouldn't wear it now it was stained with Castiel's blood.

The younger Winchester dowsed the cloth in the alcohol and placed the bottle on the floor, knowing he would need to have it within reach. The cloth hovered over a graze on the left side of the angel's stomach. Sam swallowed and brought the cloth downwards.

A millimetre away from the wound, Sam's hand halted as he heard the fibres of cotton ripping. His eyes automatically flew towards his brother and he watched for a moment as Dean swiped at the vodka. Sam was quicker and snatched the bottle up from the floor before the older Winchester could fully close his fingers around it.

"Dean…" Sam coaxed, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Dean's shoulders sunk a little and a wounded expression held his features. His nostrils flared momentarily as he sighed in anger and the piece of cloth the older brother had torn from his own donated shirt, flew to the floor in a flurry of black. The Older Winchester turned away, placing his hands on his head in frustration.

Sam watched, fixing his brother with a pitying look, returning the bottle to the floor by his side.

"It's just that…if Cas wakes up-"

"I know, I know." Interrupted Dean, throwing the comment from over his shoulder. Sam took in the slightly choked tone in his brother's voice. He felt compelled to continue.

"Dean, I know you want to help, and I want to let you. I just think we ought to figure out what happened back there, first…" Sam let his voice trail off as Dean turned to him, a frustrated brow threatening to invade the older Winchester's line of sight.

"So what do I do then, if you don't want me around when he wakes up?" he spat, indignantly, inwardly grimacing at his tone of voice; it wasn't Sam's fault. Dean knew he should be grateful that his younger brother was trying to do right by Castiel, but at the same time it was tearing him up inside that _he_ couldn't do anything to help the angel.

Sam tilted his head a little, "Dean, come on…" he moaned. His eyes found the space behind Dean and across the room but as soon as he realised what it was his focus had fallen on, he consciously shifted his gaze downwards.

Dean took a deep breath to steady himself. He had caught Sam looking at the door. He was sure the action had been a subconscious one, but this did little to improve his mood. The older Winchester pivoted and stormed across to the motel room door.

"Dean!" Sam called after him, his heart sinking a little as his brother threw open the door and gathered up the keys to the impala in one swift movement.

"Call me when he wakes up." The older Winchester instructed, solemnly, before stepping over the threshold and closing the portal behind him.

Sam's jaw line rippled as he gritted his teeth, watching the door as if he hoped Dean would change his mind and come back. A moment later, his gaze fell away from the door at the sound of an engine purring into life. The younger Winchester gave a sigh, turning his attention back to Castiel.

* * *

The waitress smiled genuinely as she placed a bottle of root beer and a glass on the table top. It was about 6am now and this meant that any bars in the area were closed. The older Winchester had had to settle for a small family run restaurant and a soda instead of a beer.

Dean gave a half-hearted nod in thanks and looked up when the girl made no attempt to move.

"Everything ok, honey?" She asked, pity edging into her voice.

Dean gave another nod, but still the girl stayed. She was young and attractive, Dean noticed. She possessed the sort of typical beauty that most guys looked for; skinny, but with ample enough curves, blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and large blue eyes. Dean grimaced; they were only a shade or two off the colour of Castiel's.

Maybe, if her eyes hadn't been blue and maybe, under different circumstances, the older Winchester might have taken her up on her unspoken offer, but not today.

Eventually, the girl got the message that Dean wasn't in the mood for company, but before she left, she leaned in to him, placing a hand on his arm.

"Ok then, but if you need anything, just ask, alright?" She gave another sickly sweet smile and then took a few steps backwards. For a moment, Dean expected her to blow him a kiss and was relieved when she didn't.

Turning his attention to his drink, Dean wondered how long he would have to make himself scarce. He was getting bored already and the thought of not knowing whether Castiel was going to be alright or not was making him restless. He leant back in the leather booth seat, momentarily, teasing his phone from his pocket. He checked to see whether he had any texts or voicemail messages even though he knew it hadn't rung. With a slight sigh, Dean placed the mobile aside his drink, watching it attentively, lest he miss it ringing. After a few minutes, he tired of this however and began to pick, absent-mindedly, at the sticky label on the bottle in front of him.

He hadn't noticed the other person occupying the same booth until a voice to his left made him jump.

"Any luck with the demon hive yet?"

Dean's head snapped sideways, instantaneously, his nostrils flaring a little in frustration as he took in the form of Crowley.

The demon smiled, no doubt oblivious to the plight the Winchesters and their tag-along angel had endured last night. Dean gave a sigh and bid his gaze fall back to the bottle. He took a swig and shook his head, "Not a good time, Crowley." He growled.

"Oh?" Crowley feigned interest, picking a piece of fluff off his coat sleeve. "And why would that be? Because, here I was thinking that stopping the apocalypse was your main objective…"

The demon's smile faded and his dark eyes regarded Dean with disdain. What could the Winchester have been doing last night that was more important that the job at hand?

Dean's gaze answered Crowley's question. The older Winchester fixed him with a haunted, yet furious expression. It also held layers of sorrow and betrayal, hope and devotion.

The demon watched Dean for a few seconds, studying him and making sure he had gotten it right.

"Something happen to Angel boy?" Crowley asked, giving an innocent shrug of his shoulders as Dean shot him a murderous glare. Whether this was because Crowley hadn't used the angel's name or whether it was because Dean was looking for someone to take his anger out on, Crowley didn't know.

"What happened?"

Dean shook his head and shifted his gaze downwards. There hadn't been an ounce of concern in Crowley's voice-not that Dean had expected there to be-so why should he give the demon all the gory details when the demon was only out for something he could use to his own advantage?

Even so, Dean found himself responding.

"You ever hear of a demon named Rachel?" The Winchester shifted his gaze to meet the demon's, "She was one of Alastair's. Arrived downstairs maybe a few months before I did?" Dean faltered a little, unsure whether he should have used 'years' rather than 'months'. He didn't suppose it mattered much and, in all honesty, he had no desire to think back on his time in the pit and try to work it out properly.

Crowley gave a nod and a shrug of his shoulders, "Yeah. Why?"

"What do you know about her?" Dean asked, taking another swig of his soda, but all the while keeping an eye on the demon beside him.

Crowley frowned a little, narrowing his eyes in thought and trying to figure out why the Winchester was so interested. He gave a short shake of his head.

"Not much." He offered flatly, seemingly content to leave it at that until Dean spared him another murderous glare.

The demon gave a resigned sigh, "I know that Alastair thought she could break the first seal. Turned out she couldn't. So, in true Alastair fashion, he made himself a little minion, taught her everything he knew." Crowley paused for a moment, eyebrows raised in thought or reminiscence, "Then, of course, we got news that Alastair had been killed." He paused again and gave an approving nod in Dean's direction, "Nice work by the way." he teased, unable to resist the temptation.

This earned him something of a sarcastic smirk from Dean. Crowley continued.

"After that, Rachel just vanished. She just left; went AWOL. The talk around the campfire was, that she had been sent topside by Lucifer himself, but by that time, I was already out of the loop, so…" The demon finished with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Why are you so interested?" he probed after a second or two of silence.

Dean glared at the demon from the top of his eyes, wondering how he could be so oblivious.

"So Rachel has something to do with last night?"

Dean nodded, his eyes finding the tabletop in shame and guilt and anger as he replayed the event in his mind.

"She had Cas." he offered, eventually.

The Winchester didn't have to look up to see Crowley's bewildered frown.

"But-"

"He's an angel. Right." Dean pre-empted the superfluous comment, "That's why it doesn't make sense; she…tortured him. She _actually _tortured him…"

Crowley remained silent, his mind struggling to work out how a demon could even have the power to consider going after angels. He looked up only to find Dean studying him blankly.

"She had an arsenal of Enochian weaponry, but still..." The Winchester offered, deflecting the demon's next unnecessary question.

"And that's the only thing that can kill an angel?" Crowley probed.

Dean gave a shrug. Cas had confided in him after the episode with Alastair, that the only thing that could kill an angel was another angel. It was a theory Dean didn't actually believe fully. After all, if that were the case, then how come he had been able to gank Zachariah? The Winchester was sure as hell he was no angel, so unless the fact he was the Michael sword had carried some weight in the matter there was no way he should have had the power. But then, what was Rachel's deal?

He looked up as he realised that Crowley had been too quiet for too long.

On cue, Crowley tilted his head to one side and shifted his focus to his coat sleeve again, affecting nonchalance, "So, I take it that Rachel didn't survive your little meeting last night?" His eyes flicked upwards to catch the Winchester's answer.

Dean fixed him with an expression that said what-do-you-think? The demon gave a nod, "And where was this?"

Dean frowned and opened his mouth to answer, but he was suddenly interrupted by his mobile phone's ring tone. Given a few more bars, there was a chance that Crowley might have worked out what song the Winchester had chosen for a ring tone, but the human had snatched the cell from the table so quickly that the demon never stood a chance.

Crowley watched, with one eyebrow raised, as the older Winchester lifted the device to his ear and pressed the answer button in an action that was almost too fast.

"Sam?" Dean breathed hurriedly, his face lighting up a little as his brother's voice floated through the receiver. "Ok…I'll be there as soon as I can…No, I'm not too far away…Bye."

The demon continued to watch the human as he all but leapt from the booth, digging hastily in his pocket for the keys to his car. Dean gave something of a nod in parting and then pivoted, moving as quickly as he could to the exit, without arousing suspicion.

Crowley stared after him, an eyebrow raised. Suddenly, an arm invaded his peripherals and, upon looking up, he took in the form of a waitress. She leaned in to collect up the half-empty bottle and the untouched glass. The blonde woman glanced towards the door, now just swinging shut behind Dean, a sad, pitying look in her azure eyes.

"Is he alright?" She asked.

Crowley gave a mischievous smile, a malicious thought crossing his mind, "Yeah, he'll be fine. That was a call from the hospital, you see, his boyfriend was involved in some sort of accident last night." the demon paused purposefully, drinking in the delicious disappointment in the girl's face.

"Oh." Was her disheartened reply. After a few seconds of silence, the waitress gave an unconvincing smile. "I hope he's going to be OK." She offered, more to be polite than anything else.

"Oh, don't worry." Crowley smiled, "That was good news."

The waitress' eyes found the table top, an almost inaudible sigh escaping her lips.

"Is there anything I can get you, sir? Or do you just want the bill for your friend?"

When no reply came, the blonde woman looked up, frowning as she noticed the booth was completely empty. Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny of the seat and then she pivoted, surveying the entire restaurant.

There was no sign of the man.

A chill ran down her spine.


	19. Etched Upon My Memories

_**Once again, I do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean, Cas, Crowley, Bobby or any of the other Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this fan fiction. Just so you know…**_

**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Nineteen: Etched Upon My Memories.**

* * *

Castiel fought the urge to open his eyes as consciousness ebbed back into him. The air around him was warmer, dryer, but that didn't necessarily mean he was safe.

He was careful to keep his breathing slow and steady, stifling the urge to wince as each breath pained him. Bruised ribs ached beneath his skin and the rise and fall of his chest bid the gashes on his torso pucker and gape. He could feel the crackle of congealing blood and the slight tickle of warmth as each movement summoned fresh plasma from the fissures.

With each breath, something soft and cloth-like caught on the puckering scabs. There was a momentary pinprick as whatever the cloth was, threatened to tear the congealed blood from the edges of his wounds.

Castiel figured the cloth was some sort of dressing and a shy feeling of relief tested his resolve. If someone had dressed his wounds then there was a good chance that that someone wanted him to survive. The relief grew as the angel ran through a mental list of anyone who might know where he was and anyone who might come and save him. The list contained only three names: Sam, Dean and Bobby and Bobby was in South Dakota, almost two day's drive away-not that driving was an option for Bobby anyway.

The angel's heart skipped a beat and fear coiled itself around his spine. How much time had elapsed since he was last conscious? He remembered Rachel and his grace, the overwhelming pain of it being torn from his chest. He remembered thinking he was as good as dead and then the dizzying nausea as he blacked out.

There was also the smell of damp material and exhaust fumes, the sensation of claustrophobia and movement. A car? Had he been in a car? He had opened his eyes and seen Dean, a smile twitching at his lips, but Castiel couldn't tell whether it had been sincere or sadistic; the pain was still too vivid, the wounds still too fresh. He couldn't differentiate from the car and the room, only noticing the absence of the rack when he succeeded in vanishing. Next was the cold, dew-sodden blades of grass beneath him and a vague yellow light pulsing in the corners of his eyes. Then everything had gone black again.

Castiel wondered how long he could keep awake this time around.

It took every ounce of concentration the angel had, to keep deathly still. He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, ignoring the pain as much as he could. Nausea gripped his throat again suddenly, but this time - no matter how much he swallowed - it wouldn't let go.

Castiel heard shuffling across the room and his eyes snapped open. A shadowy figure came into view, but he had no time to take it in. Instinctively, the angel leaned over to the side of the bed and wretched, a curdling crimson puddle burrowing itself into the thick cream-coloured carpet.

Sam grimaced and edged forward, left hand outstretched tentatively.

"Cas?" He offered, laying the hand gently on the angel's right shoulder. His heart sunk as the muscles tensed beneath his palm and he quickly withdrew, not wanting to cause him any more pain.

"Are you ok?"

Sam inwardly chided himself; of course Castiel wasn't alright, he could see that, he could hear that, but there was nothing else he could think to say. It was a reflex.

The younger Winchester had been listening attentively from across the room, for any change in the angel's breathing or anything that might suggest he was waking up. He had heard something. It had been subtle, but for a second, Castiel's breathing had broken form. It had been too erratic, too panicked and this suggested consciousness. Sam had waited for the creature to feel safe enough to open his eyes, but Castiel's waking reaction had shocked him. Seeing the angel vomit nothing more than bile and blood, sent a shiver down his spine that, he knew, could never have been summoned by a demon or any other manifestation of evil. No, this was one solely reserved for beholding an angel who was just as vulnerable as a human.

Castiel closed his eyes tight and wavered for a second or two, until he was sure the sickly feeling had subsided. His head was pounding and he felt exhaustion in every muscle. Every bone in his body seemed to ache and a few felt as if they were broken. For moments he remained still until the incessant voice of Sam Winchester broke through the invisible Styrofoam walls that seemed to have taken up residence around him.

"Are you alright? Do you need anything? Cas?"

Castiel opened his eyes slowly, shakily turning to his right to face the familiar form of Sam. He attempted a vague shake of his head and Sam faltered.

"Was that 'No, your not alright' or 'No, you don't need anything'?" Sam pried, not wanting to take any chances or make any mistakes.

"That was…" the angel paused for a moment, noting the burning sensation in his throat and the gravely tone it gave his voice. He left the conclusion to the sentence hanging in the air.

Sam started towards the bathroom door. The action startled the angel, but he tried not to let it show; he even fought back the wince as the sudden tensing of his muscles sent electric shocks through his frame. Sam noticed and cursed himself for being so inconsiderate, making an effort to slow his movements thereafter.

He returned, a few moments later, with a glass of water. He offered it to Castiel who took it gingerly.

"It'll help." he said with a slight nod.

For moments, everything was silent. Sam watched Castiel sip at the water dubiously as if he feared it might be poisoned. Sam's brow creased with empathy and pity and he swallowed back the all too familiar pang of guilt.

After a short while longer, the younger Winchester broke the silence. He sucked in air through his teeth, taking the time in the short action to inwardly debate whether or not he should even ask the question at all.

"What do you remember?" His voice was low and soft. The only other sound in the room was the loud ticking of the cheap wall clock and Sam inwardly cursed at this; his aim had been to keep his question as quiet as possible in the hope that Castiel would not hear him. Sam knew he had to ask the angel what had happened to him, but he really had no desire to hear the answer. He longed for the humming of a refrigerator or an argument from the adjacent room or even the out of context mumblings and high-pitched electronic whirring of the ancient television set. Why hadn't he turned the TV on? The younger Winchester half considered reaching for the remote control, but stopped himself, turning instead to face Castiel.

The angel looked up to him, eyes dull and fatigued, brow creased and stubborn. Sam knew this was probably an exercise of authority; Castiel was trying to retain what little power he felt he still had.

"That is…not of import." the broken angel managed, pausing slightly for a sip of water as the dizzy feeling returned for a moment in the midst of his sentence. He looked away, absent-mindedly studying the pool of stomach contents that was the result of his waking up. He grimaced, closing his eyes against the sight, only opening them again to look to Sam as the Winchester gave a disbelieving scoff.

Castiel frowned to him, but there was little or no conviction in the expression. Instead the action looked half-hearted and resigned.

"Come on, Cas. We know what…Rachel…we know what she did to you…" He paused for a moment, watching Castiel's expression falter. Sam added a grimace to the mix and then decided he really had no choice now, but to continue. "We've just got to figure out why."

The angel opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated for a moment before the dryer-than-dust voice acquiesced to the Winchester's request.

"How do you know?" Castiel wondered aloud.

Sam gave a frown, "She basically confessed everything when we found you." He offered.

Castiel gave a nod in response, "And…Dean?"

"What about him?"

"Where was he…when you found me?"

Sam didn't understand why Castiel would ask such a thing. Why would he even doubt that Dean would come to find him?

"With me." The Winchester began, a quizzical and somewhat disbelieving tone creeping through into his voice.

The angel's expression softened slightly. A few more moments of silence passed before Castiel spoke.

"And how did you escape?" he asked, looking to Sam and not at all liking the frown of miscomprehension he found on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"Did Rachel let you go?"

Sam's frown intensified and the left sighed of his mouth rose slightly in a half grimace of bewilderment.

"Dean said Rachel had captured you…That's why he…" Castiel's voice trailed off. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Surely Sam would remember being captured.

"When did you talk to Dean?" queried Sam, concern edging into his features and voice; he was missing something here.

Castiel's gaze found the floor, "When he…"

The few seconds of silence that followed, twisted Sam's gut into a tight, knot.

"When he what?" he coaxed, subconsciously edging closer to Castiel.

The angel swallowed and straightened a little, closing his eyes in concentration.

"When he tortured me."

The knot in Sam's stomach lurched painfully. The Winchester swallowed and shook his head. Castiel made no move to look at him.

"What?" Sam croaked.

"When he tor-"

"Yeah. I heard that." Sam interrupted sharply, "But it couldn't have been Dean."

Castiel raised his head and shifted his gaze back to Sam. The Winchester was frowning, deep in thought. Dean had been looking for the angel, hadn't he? Yes, the brothers had split up to look for Castiel, so Sam couldn't be sure where Dean had been at that point, but still…it was nonsense that he would seek the angel only to torture him. And Sam hadn't even been captured by Rachel so there was no incentive, no motive.

The Winchester's expression softened and realisation crossed his face as he recalled their search. He looked to Castiel, pity holding his features.

"Cas, it wasn't Dean."

Castiel's brow creased.

"It was Rachel."

"I don't understand." Castiel admitted.

Sam took a breath, "Dean and I, we split up to look for you. Dean was searching the different floors and I took the basement. I got to the last room when Dean came to me, saying he'd finished and that he wanted to help me look. He then led me into the room and tried to lock me inside…Only it wasn't Dean." Sam paused for a second or two, watching Castiel to make sure he was keeping track, "It was some sort of apparition. Then, Dean came to find me and we managed to get rid of them. Dean told me that I had come to him and he had followed me down into the basement, only I never left the basement."

The angel tilted his head to one side and his eyes narrowed involuntarily in thought.

Sam continued, "Then when we eventually found you, we realised that the apparitions were coming from Rachel…"

"You are sure?"

Castiel watched as Sam gave a nod, "So maybe she created one of Dean…to tortu-to appear to you."

The angel fought to understand what the Winchester was saying and, for what seemed like an age, he did not move a muscle.

"Cas?" Sam ventured.

"So…what was she?"

"Demon, we think."

Castiel nodded, remembering what the girl had said about being a friend of Alastair's. It made sense that she was a demon, but he didn't like the fact that she was. He had been inwardly hoping that she was something else, something he hadn't encountered before. It unsettled him that one demon could have so much power.

Sam's voice woke him from his thoughts.

"We found sulphur deposits by the door and…she didn't seem to like salt or holy water very much." He smiled a little, hoping to raise Castiel's spirits. It didn't seem to work; the angel remained still and solemn.

"Did she say what she wanted?" The younger Winchester ventured, again not sure if he wanted to know the answer or not.

"She said she was a friend of Alastair's."

Sam nodded. He remembered the scene back in the warehouse. Rachel and Dean knew each other; she spoke of coming a long way since they had last met and how Dean might have learned to kill angels if he had remained in hell. Rachel had to have been a student of Alastair's and, in that, was her motive.

Castiel had captured Alastair to question him about who was killing angels.

A sinking feeling caught Sam's stomach as he thought about how the apparition of Dean had tried to trap him; Rachel hadn't intended to stop at Castiel. She was going to torture and kill Sam and Dean, as well, for their parts to play in Alastair's death.

Revenge. Simple revenge.

The Winchester sighed, causing Castiel to look at him. The angel watched as Sam crossed the room to the pile of bags on the table and began to rummage through a duffle bag. After a minute or so he pulled from it a pair of tracksuit bottoms, a t-shirt and some socks. He crossed back over to Castiel who was regarding him dubiously.

The younger Winchester held them out to him.

"You should get dressed." He suggested, "Sorry, but we couldn't find your clothes…"

Castiel nodded slowly and took the pile from Sam.

"We can pick you some up later." He shrugged, with a smile.

Castiel made no move to stand and Sam began to tease his cell phone from his jeans pocket. He held his up for the angel to see.

"I'm gonna go outside and ring Dean."

The younger Winchester had turned by the time Castiel looked to him and so did not see the flicker of fear and mistrust that possessed the eyes of the angel, momentarily.

Sam crossed the room to the door and stepped outside.

Castiel stared despondently at the clothes Sam had given him and heaved a self-pitying sigh.

* * *

Sam punched in Dean's number and brought the cell phone to his ear. He frowned as his brother answered all too quickly.

"Yeah. It's me." He said with a hint of sarcasm and a small laugh, "Hey. You told me to ring you when Cas woke up…" He gave a shrug of his shoulders even though he knew Dean couldn't see him, "…Well he's awake…Where are you? You far? Ok then…bye."

The younger Winchester looked to the phone with a slightly wounded expression on his face as Dean hung up on him. He settled for a shake of his head and then leant against the motel room door.

* * *

Castiel pulled the oversized t-shirt over his head with a wince and turned to face the door. Beyond the portal he could hear Sam's voice. His eyes found the floor, his heart sinking in unison. It wasn't that he didn't believe what Sam had said about Rachel, but the memories were still there. He still remembered Dean wielding the syringes of demon blood. Dean was still the one cutting into his flesh with the arsenal of Enochian weapons.

Even if it wasn't him, it still looked like him.

The realisation hit him like a speeding semi; he was vulnerable, too vulnerable. A danger to the Winchesters. His feelings were getting in the way. He would need time to adjust, to get over what had happened to him.

The crushing guilt was too much, lessened only by the sensation of self-loathing. He shouldn't be able to feel things as humans did and despite the fact that he had rebelled against heaven and his powers were slowly disappearing, he shouldn't be harbouring this pain. He should be able to move swiftly on and focus on more important things. But he couldn't…

Every time he closed his eyes, the memories leapt at him, joined instantly by the physical pain from his wounds.

His eyes fell upon the door, a heavy breath escaping his nostrils, as Sam's voice fell silent from the other side.

* * *

_**So sorry this took so long to write and post and I hope that there are still some of you out there who are reading this. Anyway I have some ideas for the upcoming chapters so hopefully they won't be so long coming...Sorry again and i hope you enjoy this chapter at least. :P **_


	20. Missing

_I own nothing excepts the OCs and the plot. Everything else belongs to the creators of Supernatural…_

**_I know this chapter is a bit short and doesn't really go anywhere, but I just wanted to give you all something to read after the ridiculously long time it took to write and upload the previous chapter. You'll be pleased to know though, that my college broke up for christmas the other day and so when I'm not at work hopefully I'll be writing. I woul like to see if I could get this fanfic finished before the new year, but we'll have to see... In the next chapter I hope to bring back Crowley and Cael for a delicious little chat. should be fun to write. _**

**_Anyway, enjoy! :P_**

**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Twenty: Missing.**

Sam grimaced and allowed himself a breath as the impala skidded to a halt. The car settled into the parking space to his right at an obscure angle. The squeal of it's brakes echoed around the lot and Sam wondered how many of the other guests had just been woken up by the noise.

Dean climbed from the car, turning the ignition off and popping the catch on the door in one swift action. He pushed the door closed and it obeyed with it's customary creaking.

Sam smiled to his brother, receiving only a half-hearted nod in greeting as a response. The older Winchester made for the door only to have Sam stand in his way.

Dean narrowed his eyes, "Sam, come on." He pleaded, a gruff edge to his voice bleeding through.

"Look Dean…" The younger Winchester began, holding up his hands in mock surrender and imploring his brother to listen to him, "I think that…maybe-"

"Sam!" Dean interrupted, shooting his brother a look that silently expressed his will to cause him pain unless he moved out of his way. "All I wanna do is make sure Cas is OK. I just want to see for myself that he's gonna be alright. After that, if he wants me to leave, I will."

Sam gave a nod in understanding.

"I just need to make sure he's alright." Dean stated solemnly as his eyes found the floor. He knew that this was all his fault. He knew that if he had just paid more attention, then Castiel would never have ended up like this. He also couldn't help but think he was somewhat responsible; he should have known that the demons would want revenge for Alastair's death and the first thing he should have done when he had recovered and got out of hospital, was to hunt the sons-of-bitches down and gank every last one of them. And he should have started with Rachel…

"Dean. There's something you should know…"

Sam's voice woke him from his thoughts.

"I think I know why Cas tried to escape in the car."

Dean shook his head and shot his arms out to his sides in frustration, "And?"

Sam grimaced a little and continued, "Well, you know how Rachel created those apparitions?"

The older Winchester's brow furrowed as he wondered what Sam was getting at.

"It appears that she created one of you for Cas…"

The penny dropped and landed in the pit of Dean's stomach. A sickly feeling overcame him and anger boiled his blood. Guilt coiled itself around his form and squeezed him tight.

He _had_ been responsible for Castiel's current condition. Even though, he hadn't actually been the one to take up the instruments against the angel, it was still Dean's fault. Rachel knew him. She had tortured him and watched him torture his victims in hell. She knew his style, his motives, his mindset. She had all the tools to recreate him perfectly. And she had used this against Castiel.

Dean wished that he had known this back at the factory; Oh how he would have made her suffer…

Sam watched as his brother's expression darkened.

"Dean?" he ventured, hand outstretched an heading for his brother's shoulder.

The older Winchester's gaze snapped upwards and met his own in an action that was simply too fast. Sam watched Dean's jaw line ripple as he bit back anger and self-loathing. Then, without saying a word, Dean edged past him, pushed open the door and entered the room. The younger Winchester followed him through, his brow furrowing in trepidation as he braced himself for the surely painful conversation between Dean and Castiel, that would shortly follow. Sam clicked the door shut behind him, gently and allowed himself a breath before pivoting to face the inside of the room.

Dean stood a few feet in front of him, his eyes transfixed by the pool of crimson bile that was congealing to the side of one of the beds. He grimaced and his brow furrowed. He instantly looked around for Castiel, knowing with a sinking feeling that he would not find him.

"Cas?" He called out for good measure, before crossing the room and peering around the door jamb leading to the bathroom. When there was no sign of the angel, Dean slammed his right palm against the wooden frame and let his head sink so that his chin was touching his chest.

"Shit!" The older Winchester spat as his mind reeled, trying to think of places where the angel might be.

Sam's gaze swept the room also, stopping on anything that resembled Castiel at a glance.

"Sorry Dean." Sam offered, bidding his brother to turn to him, "I should have stayed."

"S'OK." Dean breathed. He removed his palms from the door frame and dragged the right one down over his face, releasing a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"He couldn't have gotten far…" Sam's voice trailed off as if he were trying to console Dean. The guilt turned it's attention to him now; he shouldn't have left Cas alone, he should have stayed with him and made sure he didn't try to escape. His thoughts receded long enough for him to speak again, "He was still very weak when I left him."

Dean crossed the room with a nod. His hand hovered over the door knob for a second or two. Sam noticed the ticking of the wall clock return. The older Winchester frowned and turned his attention to the pile of bags on the table, his eyes falling on the one he had carried from the factory. He ignored Sam's gaze on him as he dug around beneath the zip, frantically, only stopping when his fingers curled around cold metal and glass. He pulled the object from the bag and wrapped the chain around the shimmering bubble, before sliding it into his pocket. He offered no explanation and crossed back over to the door.

Sam's brow creased as Dean removed the item from the bag, glad that his brother had thought to retrieve it back at the warehouse. The thought had not crossed his own mind, even though he knew it should have.

Dean looked to him, expecting a question. Sam's expression remained calm and he shot Dean an uncertain crooked smile.

"You want me to come with you?" The younger Winchester pried, not wanting to annoy his brother whilst he was in such a volatile state.

Dean gave a shake of his head, "No. Stay here, in case he comes back."

Sam gave a nod.

For the second before Dean opened the door, the Winchesters shared the same look. It was similar to the one they had exchanged in the Buick.

_I hope you find him._

_Yeah, me too. _


	21. Peace Offering

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this fan fiction. But seriously, you should have figured that out by now…_

**It Cuts Like an Archangel's Blade. **

**Chapter Twenty-One: Peace Offering. **

Castiel was almost glad of the chill in the air and the slight drizzle of rain from above. He allowed himself a moment to savour it after ending up at the back of the motel where the rubbish skips were kept. The cold was numbing and seemed to seek out the bruises and welts on the angel's skin especially; it was almost as if it knew what he had been through and sought to offer a momentary reprieve from the pain.

The sickly smell of decomposing garbage mixed with the steam from the laundry room vent and caught in Castiel's nostrils. His stomach lurched at the bizarre concoction and he grimaced involuntarily. He held his mid-drift to stay the creeping nausea and stumbled from the area.

It was still early so he was only passed by a few people as he slowly made his way down a street unknown to him. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he particularly care, he only knew that he wasn't ready to talk to Dean just yet. He needed time to think, to gather strength, to convince himself that the person back in the warehouse had not been the older Winchester.

The angel shook his head, trying to slow his mind as it replayed the scenes. He could only see Dean. There was no one else. He tried to put Rachel before him and imagine it was her standing there, wielding the knives and syringes. He couldn't.

He tried something less difficult; putting Sam in Dean's place. That proved futile as well.

It _was_ Dean; It had been too perfect for an apparition. Too much like the Winchester, the same voice, hair, clothes. He had even moved the same way as Dean.

Out of morbid curiosity, Castiel had watched Dean in his interrogation of Alastair. He had made a note of the way Dean's brow set itself as he poured salt down the demon's throat. He had grimaced at Dean's smile as he cut away at Alastair with a blade coated in salt and Holy water.

The Winchester had warned him that he would not like what emerged from that room. That much was true; he hadn't liked it. He could remember how heavy his heart had felt when he helped Sam to carry Dean, bruised and bloodied, from the room, but the angel had thought that was it. He figured Dean would heal and be back to his normal self in no time. Perhaps he had recovered and what Sam had said was, indeed, true. Then again, maybe he hadn't. Maybe Dean had never forgiven him for putting him in that situation. Maybe he had been waiting for an opportunity to present itself so that he could prove his point to the angel and the situation with Rachel was just too perfect a chance to pass up. Sam had said they had split up, after all. Would there have been enough time to find Castiel before Sam noticed he was gone?

Castiel sighed. It was a sigh filled to brimming with confusion, sadness and self pity. It was a deep sigh too and, as a result, was followed swiftly by a wince as his aching ribs strained to account for the sudden expansion of his lungs.

In his weakened state, the pain shocked him and he moved to lean against the nearest wall for support. His free hand flew, instinctively, to his chest and for a moment or two he remained like this, his mind reeling and his breathing tentative. Castiel's focus was broken suddenly as a blonde woman approached with sympathetic smile, placing a kindly hand on his shoulder.

"Are you ok, sir?" she pried.

Castiel nodded, but didn't feel it was his most convincing effort. His shook her hand from his shoulder and took a step away from her, making a conscious effort to straighten up and ignore the pain.

"I'm fine." he stated, watching as the girl withdrew her hand and placed it on the strap of her shoulder bag.

"Are you sure? My car's only round the corner; I could give you a lift to the hospital or to your house if you like…"

Castiel narrowed his eyes in scrutiny of the girl. Her smile turned sickly as she awaited an answer.

"I'm fine." repeated the angel, "Thank you." He offered, his tone of voice failing to fully embody the meaning of the words.

The girl nodded, realising that the strange man before her was not going to accept her help any time soon.

"Oh…Ok then. Well, in that case, goodbye I suppose." She offered before stepping slowly around Castiel, as if she were waiting for him to collapse with exhaustion or something. Castiel followed her with his gaze until she turned her attention from him and proceeded walking down the street. He offered her a half-hearted smile for her concern and a nod in partting as she passed him, but as soon as her eyes were away from him he ducked into the doorway in the wall he had been leaning against, lest she turn back.

Upon entering the building, Castiel was overcome by a sudden feeling that he was trespassing. The feeling grew as he took in the all too familiar features of it.

Before him stood rows upon rows of dark wooden pews, all of which were facing the altar, peeking out from behind an intricate wooden screen. Beyond the screen but before the altar were set more pews, but these rows faced each other. The angel surveyed the intricate masonry on the large stone pillars, dotted throughout the rows of pews, and the ornate mouldings on the ceiling. The scent of burning wick and candle flame arose from somewhere towards the altar, but Castiel was too far away to glean it's origin. A stone font stood a few paces away from him and he was about to approach it when his concentration was broken by the sound of a door opening. The creak of wood made him jump and he slid into one of the pews as a figure emerged from somewhere near the altar. It appeared to be a middle-aged man, but that was all that Castiel could recognise before he bowed his head in an effort to appear to be praying. The man seemed content to leave him be and shuffled around at the altar for a short while before disappearing through the door he had emerged from.

Castiel released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

Dean sped out of the motel parking lot and turned left onto the main street. He stopped at a stop sign and pondered where exactly he was headed. He found he couldn't give himself an answer. Where would Castiel go? Where would an earthbound angel go? The answer came to him immediately, but it was too cliché. He looked through the windscreen, turning his attention to a road sign a few feet beyond the stop sign. He decided that the best thing to do would be to head into the centre of town and do some reconnaissance. After all, he didn't know much of the area and wandering around aimlessly would be a waste of time.

The sound of a car horn broke his concentration and his eyes flew to the rear-view mirror. An irate man in a generic silver car was waving him on. Dean had half a mind to get out and give the man something for his trouble, but he needed to find Cas and fighting with some random dick in the middle of the street would help no one.

With a frown in contempt, Dean pulled off and took a right. Before long he was driving down a street with rows of shops on either side. He parked up and got out of the Impala.

With a frown, the Winchester realised he recognised the street. Across from the parked car was the restaurant he had been in this morning. Through the glass the could just about see the booth he had occupied, but there was no sign of the waitress.

With a shrug, Dean pivoted and surveyed the rest of the street. The shops were the usual affair that one would expect to find. Then, about half way down the street on the left hand side, a few yards back from the shops on either side of it, stood a church. Dean's brow creased deeper and he gave a shrug, figuring that it was worth a shot.

Before long, he found himself on the steps of the church and slipped inside. Despite the cold and the rain, one side of the large double doors had been left open, making the decision to check the church out easier for Dean.

It took a moment for the Winchester's eyes to become accustomed to the slight change in lighting, but as soon as they did, they fell upon the only other person in the church.

Dean could only see the back of the person's head from where he was standing, but he could tell who it was. The figure's dark hair was dishevelled and greasy and his frame looked small beneath a baggy, oversized t-shirt. As he watched, a few droplets of water fell from stray strands of hair as the person lowered his head.

The urge to Run to him and check him over, make sure he was ok and comfort him if he was not, was almost too great, but Dean stopped himself; he didn't want a repeat of what happened in the Buick.

Dean took a breath and started forwards. He slid, unnoticed into the pew directly behind the person and for a second or two, merely sat in silence. He was trying to work out what to say and how to begin.

In the end he didn't have to.

"Dean."

The dusty voice grated and pulled at Dean's stomach. He grimaced and nodded, even though he knew this action would be unseen.

"Cas." He offered, in a tone that mimicked the angel's own.

He saw Castiel lower his head a little and take a deep, agonising breath before shifting awkwardly to face the human in the pew behind him.

Seconds of silence past. Dean studied the broken creature, picking out the welts on his face, the dark circles around his usually vivid but now dull and bloodshot eyes and the hint of the dressing peeking out from beneath the collar of the t-shirt he wore. Inwardly, the Winchester wondered of the extent of Castiel's injuries and whether they would look better or worse now that they had been bathed and dressed.

Dean broke the silence; he found it too much to bear.

"Sam told me what you told him…"

The angel gave a solemn, knowing nod. .

"It wasn't me Cas. I would never do that to you." There was a look in Castiel's eyes that said he knew, but something else that forbade him from trusting the Winchester. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't my fault." Dean offered, "Because it was. I should have realised the demons would want revenge for Alastair. And I should have known that Rachel would be the one to do it. I should have realised what you were gonna do back at the first warehouse and I should have stopped you."

"And _I _should have listened to you." The angel spoke finally.

Dean reached out a hand for Castiel's shoulder, but the angel flinched away from him. The action hurt, but Dean understood why now. He returned his hand to his side and gave a comforting smile.

"You should have, but I don't blame you for not listening. I realise how hard all of this must be for you and I know you were only trying to feel like you did before." The Winchester sighed, "After all, you couldn't have known it was a trap. Someone could have been in danger and you only tried to help."

Castiel gave a nod, but his expression darkened.

"You warned me it was a trap." Castiel growled.

Dean frowned, wondering what the angel was getting at. Did he actually believe that he would work with Rachel in order to torture Castiel? What for? Dean couldn't believe that the angel would even doubt him, but in light of everything that had happened he guessed he had a certain right to do so. Even so, the hostility in Castiel's voice hurt.

"Look Cas…I just wanted to make sure you were OK." The Winchester moved to stand, Castiel's gaze followed him, "I'm gonna leave now. Come find me when you want to talk, alright?"

The angel nodded. Dean followed suit and gave a reassuring smile. He turned away and dug his hand into his jacket pocket, absent-mindedly. His fingers curled around the supernatural bauble there.

"Here."

The Winchester held it out for Castiel to take. Gingerly the angel's disobedient fingers closed around the chain and lifted it from Dean's palm.

Dean gave a shrug, "I thought to could use that." He gave a smile and released his grip on the curio. He sidled from the pew and spared one last look to the broken angel before leaving the church.

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel breathed, not tearing his gaze from the swirling luminous liquid within the bubble.

* * *

**_Here's hoping I finish this before New Year's Though, giving myself a deadline seems to have had the adverse effect. Anyway hope you enjoyed this. Oh and hope you had a great christmas everyone!_**


	22. Colourless Colour

_I do not own the Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this fanfic._

**_Ok so I didn't get it finished by New Year's but nevermind. I promise to get it finished within a year, so by my reckoning that means about June or July ish...Well here's hoping. Sorry about the long wait for this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!_**

* * *

**It Cuts Like An Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Colourless Colour. **

Castiel stared at the pendant for a long while after Dean's departure. He watched the colours dance beneath the glass as he rolled the bauble over and over in his was curious, yet delicate as if he feared the glass would shatter at his touch. The glass cell was cold but, beneath the initial chill, hummed warmth.

The angel let the chain slip through his fingers and gingerly moved his right arm upwards so that the curio swung in front of his face. He watched the colours, swirling like oil on water, trickling like raindrops on glass and flickering like stars in the night sky. It was beautiful, but instead of awe, wonder or happiness, a sense of guilt and sadness fell over him.

Six angels had died…and they had died because of him.

If it hadn't have been for him, Alastair might still be alive and, as a result, the demons would seek no revenge, no personal vendetta against Castiel. That, in turn, would mean that Rachel would have had no need for an arsenal of Enochian forged instruments and no reason to capture, torture and kill angels. She would have had no need for their weapons and no reason to practice her methods on them. Yes, the simple fact of the matter was, that Castiel had - almost single-handedly - sentenced his brothers and sisters to death.

His heart sank and landed in the pit of his stomach as the remains of his siblings sang to him from their makeshift prison. Castiel closed his eyes to listen as each droplet of energy sung the names of the one to whom it belonged.

Luna, Arya, Gwyn, Marcus, Caleb, Nero.

Castiel knew none of them personally, they had never met, yet they had been condemned to death because of him. He could only imagine what torments they ha been subjected to at Rachel's bidding. It was true that Castiel had suffered greatly at Rachel's hands, but that was when the demon had known what she was doing. The angels before him most certainly did not have that luxury.

The angel swallowed involuntarily and said a silent prayer for each of those that had had fallen because of him, because of his mistake.

Then a new name whispered to him. It broke his concentration and he turned his attention, immediately, back to the trinket.

"Castiel." it sang.

The tiny whisper broke his sorrow for a moment and granted him a small glimmer of hope. It was his grace, still alive and still his own. It was calling to him, beckoning him to take it.

Castiel curled his fingers around the bubble, lest the energy escape without his say so, and contemplated his next action.

Was it worth it? Was it worth taking back his grace when it was only doomed to fail him eventually anyway? Was there any point in prolonging the inevitable?

The angel heaved a sigh, wincing afterwards with the strain this put on his bruised ribs. He needed his grace, he concluded. It would fail him eventually, but for now he could still use it. Without it he was completely vulnerable and this unnerved him. What's more, he owed it to the Winchesters to take it back. Whatever had happened in that warehouse, the brothers had saved him and it was Dean who had given him the pendant in the first place. Above all else, Castiel reasoned, the trio had an apocalypse to avert and what use was powerless angel against the devil himself?

Taking a deep breath and biting back the wince that followed, Castiel reached for the inside of his trench coat and the blade he would surely find there. His fingers brushed against thin cotton and his heart sank. The feeling of vulnerability intensified for a moment, but Castiel regarded the glass oval again in an attempt to dispel the unwelcome sensation. He considered dropping the object to the floor, smashing the glass and releasing his grace that way. However, he quickly vetoed this notion; The bubble contained the grace of six angels besides his own and Castiel wasn't exactly sure what would happen if the energy was released with no where to go. _He_ couldn't absorb it; each grace was specific to a particular angel. Castiel could claim his own without any adverse effects, but if he were to even attempt to take in the grace of another, agonising torment would follow.

Castiel shook his head. There was a spell, but it was difficult and he would need help. With a resigned sigh, the angel stood, noticing the reluctance of his legs and the aching of the muscles at his back, he had been sitting for too long, his limbs and body too weak and broken to stand the hard wood of the pews for such a time.

He heard the creak of the door again and turned to face it. The middle-aged man emerged, looked across at him and smiled kindly. Castiel found he could not return the gesture and for a moment the man looked as if he might approach him, but he seemed to think better of it and ascended the small step in line with the screen, busying himself at the altar. Castiel pivoted and headed for the entrance, trying to keep his steps steady and inconspicuous. He was all too aware of the stiffness in his feet and legs and the laboured gait this gave him.

It was raining heavier now and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. There was no one about, the downpour bidding them stay indoors.

Castiel retraced his steps, knowing that any attempt to travel in any other way but walking would be futile.

* * *

Both the Winchesters were restless.

Sam had set up his laptop at the table again. He had hurriedly closed the windows containing the information on the warehouses and factories in the area, but found that he could think of nothing else to do once this task was complete. In the end, he settled for cleaning up his desktop, creating new folders and carefully stowing any research the brother might need in the future.

Dean seemed reluctant to settle in one place for too long. He had spent the best part of the last hour pacing the room. He would perch on the edge of the bed for a few moments before walking to the window, to the table, to the bathroom-where he would turn the taps on and off for no apparent reason-before crossing back over to the bed. He had broken the pattern a few times, gathering up the remote control and turning on the television, flicking through the few channels they had before heaving a sigh turning the T.V off again and tossing the remote onto the nearest bed.

Dean's pacing was annoying Sam, but the younger Winchester knew better than to comment on it. He understood, hell, it was taking all the resolve he had not to close the computer and join his brother.

There was a sudden knock on the door and the brothers turned their attention to the portal in a simultaneous, lightning quick move.

Sam stood and edged towards the door but Dean was upon it in a heartbeat. Sam looked around for Ruby's knife, slightly unnerved at the older Winchester's disregard for safety and usual procedure. He threw open the door without even so much as checking to see whether he had his gun on him or not.

Sam relaxed a little as the dripping, dishevelled form of Castiel appeared beneath the door frame. Wrapped around the angel's right hand was a silvery chain. His knuckles were turning white as they encircled something in his palm.

The younger Winchester guessed it would be the pendant.

Dean stood to one side of the door and Castiel shuffled into the room. He seemed not to care about retaining his remaining authority or composure anymore and let his head fall forward and eyes find the floor. Dean pushed the door closed gently and watched after the angel as he made his way to the centre of the room.

Castiel knew what both brothers were dying to ask him, but he did not have the patience for it. He waited for Sam to stand aside Dean before he spoke.

"I need your help." Castiel croaked.

"Of course." Sam offered, shooting a quick sideways glance at his brother before turning back to Castiel and nodding fervently.

Dean's expression was determined yet empathetic and he too gave a nod, "What do you need?"


	23. Obstruction

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this Fanfiction. Just so you know…_

**_Sorry this has been a long time coming, I was suffering from creative block, made worse only by tonnes of homework, coursework, stress at work and to-ing and fro-ing to my Sister's. Sorry again, but hopefully this satiates you for a while.

* * *

_**

**It Cuts Like an Archangel's Blade.**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Obstruction.**

The bowl of herbs and relics - most of which had been very difficult to obtain - crackled and spluttered into life beneath the ancient magic. The effect reminded Sam of the way magnesium powder looked when ignited.

Castiel's dry voice donated a jagged edge to the spell and, for a moment, the younger Winchester was unsure if it would actually work.

Upon hearing the sizzling and beholding the thread of bright white light grow from a small spark in the centre of the mixture, Castiel gave a nod to Dean who held the pendant. The older Winchester lowered it gently into the bowl and watched as the glass was engulfed by the flame.

Instantly, the colour of the flame changed. It was no longer a bright white; it seemed to dull a little, but, at the same time, leant itself to a myriad new colours. The brothers remained silent and took a simultaneous step backwards. They knew what the light was and they knew it was powerful; they weren't about to take any chances. Castiel also fell silent, his focus held by the light as it grew, slithered upwards and overtook the edge of the bowl. For moments it writhed and swirled like smoke rising from the end of a cigarette. It seemed to possess an air of hesitance, as if it was sentient and didn't want to return to the angel, after all.

It was a painfully long wait, but eventually the glowing column danced towards Castiel. Sam and Dean shielded their eyes, each remembering what had happened with Anna when her grace was returned to her.

When there was no blinding white, the Winchesters lowered their arms and looked to Castiel with bemused expressions.

The angel looked almost as wary, as if he doubted the spell had worked at all. He stretched his hands out in front of him, and frowned. His scrutiny revealed that the skin was no longer chapped and grazed.

"Well that was anticlimactic." Dean stated indignantly, a frown of disbelief and disappointment gracing his features.

"Did it work?" Sam asked, his gaze shifting to the bowl which now contained only a slight dusting of ash, in the middle of which was the pendant. The bubble still contained the shimmering substance.

The younger Winchester gingerly lifted the necklace from the bowl and held it up so that his brother and the angel could see that there was still something inside of it.

Castiel was aware of the brothers' gaze on him and he tried his best to ignore them. He inched his fingers beneath the collar of the t-shirt and pressed gently on the dressing there. There was no sharpness, no sting. If anything, there was a dull barely-there ache. The angel reached for the tape at the edge of the dressing and teased it away from his skin. Once he had removed the dressing completely, Castiel spared a look at the wound beneath in morbid curiosity. He found that there was almost nothing left of it; a few scratches and a drying patch of blood was all there was.

Sam and Dean watched the angel intently as he examined the wounds on his chest. Sam tilted his head to one side and noticed how the cut on Castiel's cheekbone seemed faded and all but gone. He smiled.

"I think so." Castiel offered with a nod, balling up the blood-stained bandage in his fist and dropping it into the waste basket by the counter to the side of the room.

Dean allowed himself a small smile.

The angel gave a shrug of his shoulders and looked to the brothers imploringly, "Of course, I won't know for sure until I-"

"Go and do whatever it is you need to do…We won't try and stop you." Sam interrupted, an empathetic edge creeping into his already present smile, "Right, Dean?"

Dean gave a nod in response, "We'll be here, waiting for you."

Castiel gave a grateful nod.

"Wait. Take this." Dean rummaged around in his jeans pocket and pulled from it his cell phone. He handed it to the angel who received it gingerly.

"Call us if you need help and we'll come and get you. If it rings, don't answer it if it doesn't say 'Sammy' on the screen."

The angel gave a nod before the flutter of wings engulfed him and he was gone.

The Winchesters allowed themselves a deep sigh. Dean placed his hands on the back of his head and, for a moment or two, the brothers contemplated what had happened here. Their focus shifted, almost in unison, from the spot where Castiel had been standing, to the remnants of the spell.

Sam made the first move to tidy up. Dean followed suit.

* * *

As Castiel stared up at the smouldering building, a sigh of relief escaped his lips. He had made it to the right place. It was an encouraging sign.

He took a minute to study the building and contemplate whether or not he actually wanted to enter. He had to, he reasoned. There was an emptiness inside of him, some deep void that contained nothing but darkness and suffering. He had to find a way to close it, to move on, to help avert the apocalypse with a clear and stable mind. He had to face his captor. He had to face the memories.

Castiel did not expect Rachel to be alive - the Winchester brothers would have taken care of that, for sure - but he could still face her, look into her soul and fathom why exactly she had done what she had.

In the time the angel had been with the Winchesters, he had learned that half of fighting was knowing your opponent. Normally this was not a problem for Castiel, but Rachel had been something knew - or at least something old but with a few new tricks - and if there were more like her then there could be trouble.

Castiel shook himself from his thoughts with a deep, silent breath and scrutinised the building.

The warehouse appeared to have been set alight, though little remained of the flames. Thick smoke still rose from some places and a few embers smouldered away, but for the most part, the flames and heat were gone. The memory of a pulsing yellow light in the corner of his eye jerked back to him. The strange light had been twinned with the sensation of something soft and moist beneath his cheek and the almost overwhelming scent of damp earth.

Castiel tried to place the memory along a chronological timeline in his mind. The pulsing light had come after he had opened his eyes in the car. It must have been a car, but not the Impala. A car that was ancient and squeaky, pockmarked with patches of rust and driven by someone he didn't know. He had caught the smell of moisture trapped within the seats, heard the gruffness to the voice that could only have come with age. Then the angel had awoken and seen Dean. Panic had gripped him hard and he had vanished, instinctively. The relief had washed over him, but lasted only a second as dizziness overcame the angel and wrestled him to the ground. He could feel sweat on his brow, hear his heartbeat in his ears. He willed himself to stand but found his body disobedient. That was when the warm glow had hummed at his peripherals. Warm, comforting and for a second, tantalisingly divine.

Bidding his thoughts return to the present, Castiel set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. He vanished in an instant only to appear in the corridor he had already seen twice before. The walls were now blackened from the smoke, the rust and spray paint almost indistinguishable beneath a chalky jet substance. Whispers of smoke still hung in the air and the stench of burning flesh caught Castiel's nose for a moment as he turned towards the room he was looking for.

He took a few steps forward and then stopped himself. His brow creased as the echo of voices floated around him. The angel followed them, careful to keep his footsteps slow and silent.

As he got closer he could tell the voices were male and that the conversation was held between only two persons.

He found he couldn't recognise both of them but there was an unwelcome familiarity in one of the voices; the one that seemed older and wiser. A British accent curled itself around the words.

"So we have an accord?" it asked.

"Yes, so long as you keep your end of the bargain, I'll keep my mouth shut." Came the response from the unknown voice.

Castiel crept closer to listen, pressing his side against the door jamb. The door had been left - or had fallen - slightly ajar and the angel used this to his advantage, angling his head so that his ear was closer to the gap.

"Oh, you can count on it. You have my word."

A small grunt was the response to this statement and then the voice seemed to mumble something under its breath.

The space beyond the door fell silent save for the scuffing of shoes on the debris stricken floor. Castiel counted only one set of footsteps and gingerly prodded the crumbling barricade before him with his finger. It swung forwards easily, as if it had given up on its purpose altogether.

Castiel pushed himself away from the wall and stood squarely in the doorframe, taking in the scene before him.

To the left of the room was the remnants of a large wooden table, it's surface charred and its ashen legs buckled beneath the weight of the table top.

At the opposite side of the room stood the rack, barely touched by the flames. Castiel' gaze found the left hand side of the room again, hoping this small action had not been noticed.

Just before the table was a black shape. That was the only word Castiel could think of to describe it. He was sure the mass was the remnants of his captor, but her features and hair had burned away, her clothes had become little more that darkened rags, melted to patches of skin. It would be nearly impossible for the authorities to identify the girl now. They would have to use dental records if they were going to even have the slightest of chances.

Castiel wasn't entirely sure he cared about the girl. The girl he knew only as Rachel. The girl who had been the vessel for a demon who sought revenge in Castiel's suffering.

The angel shook his head and turned his attention to the centre of the room. Part of the roof had fallen away in the fire and the resulting fissure bathed the figure standing there in sunset's amber light. Castiel grimaced at the obscene image. The man before him was a demon but the light cast a divine glow about him.

The demon turned to him with a smile, ambiguous in motive, waking the angel from his impromptu daydream.

"Castiel."

The angel's eyes narrowed involuntarily, a growl escaped his lips.

"What are you doing here, Crowley?"


	24. No Place To Run

_I do not own Supernatural or any of the Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this fan fiction. _

**_Right so...sorry this took an age to write and upload, but I have a good excuse. Well, technically I have several, and they include having a funeral to go to and a mountain of coursework to complete. Anyway, hope this doesn't disappoint after so long a wait. Enjoy..._**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four: No Place to Run.**

Cael allowed himself a disappointed - yet not all that surprised - sigh as he scanned the ruins of the chamber. There was nothing left of the instruments, they had all been taken. An urn, chalky and black, remained untouched on the table's disintegrating surface and the rack stood across the opposite side of the room, but that was all that was left of the endeavour, all that was left of the failed mission.

Cael turned his attention to the charred and blackened mass on the floor that had once been Rachel. He approached it slowly, almost ceremoniously, and knelt aside the corpse.

The stench of burnt flesh (all too familiar yet not wholly unpleasant) clung to the demon's nostrils as he leant in closer to the body, searching for the pendant that should have been draped around the girl's neck.

Realising, almost at once, that the exercise was completely futile, Cael allowed another sigh to escape his lips before standing and surveying the room. He tried to piece together what exactly had gone on there.

Rachel had been torturing the angel, perhaps; there was blood on the rack, dried and blackened now, but there it still was. The Winchesters had come to save their precious angel and had, evidently, killed Rachel in the fight that most certainly succeeded their meeting. Then, the humans released Castiel from his bindings and escaped, being sure to gather the instruments and pendant before they left. Then, apparently, they had seen fit to torch the place.

Cael had warned his comrade that it was too soon to try for Castiel and the Winchesters. Even after the six angels she had already done away with, Rachel wasn't strong enough. Cael saw that. Merely watching the girl at work confirmed his suspicions that she was too hasty, too reckless in the use of her powers, stretching her abilities too much, too soon. He understood why, of course; Alastair had been great, the stuff of legend and yes, management were baying for revenge, but Rachel hadn't been ready…At least not for Castiel and the infamous brothers Winchester.

"Don't start crying, will you Cael? I'm not the comforting type."

Cael pivoted with a snarl to glean the origin of the sudden interruption to his thoughts. A growl bubbled in his throat as he came face to face with one of Crowley's trademark smirks.

"You should leave." Cael stated, his soulless black eyes narrowing involuntarily.

"And why would I do that?" Came the nonchalant reply.

Crowley's smirk became an expression of indifference as he crossed the room and inspected the ashen remains of Rachel. His eyes shifted upwards, momentarily taking in the urn askew on what was left of the table, before returning to the corpse.

For a second, Cael thought he saw a grimace cross the older demon's features, but figured that it was merely some kind of pantomime employed to put him on edge or get him to let his guard down.

Cael remained silent, keeping Crowley in his sights and waiting until he was completely stationary before replying, "If you don't, I'll kill you."

"Oh really?" Crowley's expression turned darker suddenly, his intonation testing and confrontational. He gave a quick look around him and gestured to the corpse between them, "The evidence before us suggests that you've failed in your current objective…so it stands to reason that the next endeavour you attempt will fail also." He paused for a moment, arms poised out to the sides theatrically, "And come on…we are talking about killing me here. _Me. _Something not easily done, even by the best."

Crowley raised his eyebrows teasingly and savoured the contempt he found in Cael's expression. When the younger demon failed to break his impromptu vow of silence, Crowley continued, beginning with a disappointed sigh and taking a few steps back.

"Did it not even occur to you that if you and Rachel had only come to me in the first place, she might still be alive?"

Cael's brow furrowed menacingly, the haematite hue fading finally from his eyes. "As if, Crowley." He growled, pausing for a moment and taking a step away from the older demon, tensing his muscles a little. "Everyone knows about you; Teaming up with the Winchesters. I should kill you right now…"

Cael angled his head forwards and glared at Crowley through the top of his eyes. Crowley's response was to smirk and walk over to the rack. He studied it indifferently for a few seconds before pivoting on his heel and facing Cael again.

"You should…but you're not going to." He surmised, his smile widening a little.

"And why not?" the younger demon spat through gritted teeth, his fists clenching involuntarily.

"Because…" began Crowley, bringing his right hand upwards and using it to gesture with, illustrating his speech, "…think about it; Your goal was to hunt down Castiel and the Winchesters, torture them and kill them, right?"

Cael remained silent, giving a slight shake of his head in defiance. However, the look in his eyes told Crowley the answer was yes.

"Well, you've failed; Rachel is dead, the Winchesters and their pet are walking free _and _you've managed to lose your munitions."

Cael's brow creased into a slight frown. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"The weapons, Cael. No doubt Sam and Dean have them stashed away in a little cubby hole somewhere by now." He finished with a shrug of his shoulders.

Cael's frown deepened, "So?"

Crowley gave a sigh, "_So…_Think about what little old Lucy will do to you when he finds out."

An evil smile spread across the crossroad demon's thin lips. Cael's face fell simultaneously.

"He'll understand." He began, trying to convince himself more than anything else, "After all, Castiel's an angel-"

"Not really."

"But, the Winchesters. They-""Are human. Easy to kill."

"No they-""Have weaknesses. Like every other human."Cael opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. Crowley had a point. He and Rachel had failed and now, with Rachel gone, the blame would fall on Cael. Lucifer would be furious and Cael would be punished. A chill ran down the demon's spine and he fought the urge to shudder at it.

Crowley's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I propose a deal."

Silence erupted around them and hung thick in the air for a few moments.

"Of course you do." Cael sighed resignedly. He looked up, knowing he had no other option but to listen to what Crowley had to say.

Crowley gave a smile and approached the other demon again.

"I will get the weapons back for you and you can go back to Lucifer and tell him it wasn't a complete failure and you can always start again…"

Crowley paused, a little too long for Cael's liking, "And?" the younger demon coaxed.

"_And…_In return you'll bring me the angel's blade and don't mention one word to Lucy about our little chat.""Is that it?" Cael asked dubiously; It seemed too small a price to pay.

"Oh and-I almost forgot; thanks for reminding me-"

Cael watched the smile return to Crowley's face. His heart sank.

"You have to promise me a favour."

"What?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I'll let you know when I need it."

The younger demon gave a sigh. He knew it had been a mistake to ask, but he really had no other options available to him; he could either accept Crowley's offer or report back to Lucifer that they had failed and had no hope of salvaging anything from the mess. He knew that doing _that_ would result in an agonising death for him.

"Ok." Cael submitted.

"Good." The older demon allowed a teasing smile to find his features, "Shall we seal it with a kiss?"

Cael narrowed his eyes at Crowley, hoping the magnitude of his contempt would not be lost on him.

He watched as Crowley approached him, closing the gap between them slowly, prolonging the younger demon's discomfort. Then, suddenly, Crowley's brow furrowed and his eyes shot towards the door. They returned a second later and he shrugged a little, taking a step backwards.

"So we have an accord?" Crowley asked.

Cael gave a slow, slightly bemused nod. "So long as you keep your end of the bargain, I'll keep my mouth shut." He snarled.

"Oh, you can count on it. You have my word."

With this, Crowley crossed the space before him, to the table, picking up the remaining terracotta urn - somehow structurally intact, if not its original colour - from the table's surface. He handed it to Cael who received it suspiciously. Crowley gave a nod and watched the other demon vanish.

Cael reappeared a second or so later, a tan bundle of cloth tucked beneath one arm. His gaze did not turn to Crowley until he had placed his burden on the remains of the table, exactly where the urn had been.

As Cael removed his hands from the cloth, Crowley caught the slightest glimmer of polished metal. He spared his reluctant ally a nod and watch him vanish, before moving to the centre of the room to a spot where the roof had partially fallen away.

Crowley stared upwards, into the honey coloured sky and awaited _his_ arrival.

The demon listened for the creak of the door as it struggled to cling to the frame, before he turned around to face the newcomer.

"Castiel."

The angel's eyes narrowed involuntarily, a growl escaped his lips.

"What are you doing here, Crowley?"

* * *

" I swear, one of these days, someone is actually going to be happy to see me…" Crowley stated sarcastically, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye. He smirked a little, but let this fade as he regarded the angel.

In place of his customary trench coat, suit and tie, Castiel had seen fit to don tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt, both at least two sizes too big for the angel's vessel.

Crowley tilted his head to one side, remembering the pile of cloth Cael had placed on the table. He resisted the urge to look at the bundle.

"Loving the new look, by the way." Crowley teased, with a nod at the angel's attire.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel growled, staring forwards, resisting the urge to look down at his clothes.

The demon gave a small sigh in defeat, "I saw Dean earlier, wondered why he hadn't taken care of that hive I sent him after. He told me you'd had a run in with her." He paused to spare the corpse a nod, his gaze lingering for a moment or two, "_So_ I thought I'd better come and investigate."

"Why?" The angel snarled, his tone serrated and saturated with contempt and anger.

Crowley raised his eyebrows, "_Because_ I'm a demon. _Because _I know how demons think and _because _I knew she wouldn't be working alone."

This piqued Castiel's interest. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak. Crowley beat him to it.

"Don't worry. I found the other one."

"Where is he?"

"Taken care of."

"How?"

"Doesn't matter…" Crowley gave a nonchalant wave of his hand and took a calculated step to his right. Another followed and another.

The angel watched attentively as the demon strode round to the other side of the table. Crowley managed to maintain eye contact with Castiel until he came parallel with him. He allowed himself a smile and looked down at the cloth that lay before him.

"Though, it's lucky for you I did."

Castiel followed Crowley's gaze and frowned in confusion as he regarded the tan fabric that could only have been one thing. He watched the demon delicately unfold the coat and slowly reach out for the Enochian forged blade it's absence revealed. Crowley held the weapon up to the light, watching the amber rays dance on it's surface as he rolled it along his palm.

Castiel's stomach lurched. The action reminded him of the way Rachel had fussed over the instruments in her arsenal. The angel found himself looking away for a moment or two. He turned his gaze to the bundle of clothes on the table wondering how he hadn't noticed them upon entering the room.

A flash of movement stirred him from his thoughts and he watched as the demon returned the blade to the pile.

The pair locked eyes again and Crowley pushed the mess of fabric a few inches along the table's surface towards the angel.

"You really ought to have these back."

"Why are you giving them to me?" Castiel asked dubiously, resisting the almost overwhelming desire to snatch the clothes from the tabletop.

Crowley gave a smile and a shake of his head, " 'Cos I changed my mind; tracksuits and t-shirts don't suit you."

The angel's expression remained deadpan. The demon rolled his eyes.

"I'm giving them to you because I'm on your side; I don't want the apocalypse to happen and neither do you. And right now, you and the Winchesters are the best hope in stopping it. So, it's in my best interests to make sure that you get back to your old self. Or, you know…" Crowley gave a shrug of his shoulders.

Castiel reached a tentative hand forwards and brought the tan pile closer to him, frowning a little as the table's rough surface resisted the movement slightly. Crowley gave a nod and strode over to his original spot in the centre of the room, all the time aware of the angel's gaze following him.

"Hadn't you better get going?" Crowley queried.

Castiel gave a slow nod, but did not make any move to disappear. Instead, his attention lingered on the blackened body. The demon watched him, eyes narrowed in curiosity, head tilted slightly to his right.

After a few seconds, Castiel tore his gaze away from the corpse and the sound of fluttering wings announced his departure.

Crowley pivoted to face the rack, stepping over to the device, a self-satisfied smirk slowly crossing his lips.

"Alone at last." He mused, reaching for one of the blades welded to it's frame. Beneath the blood, the metal still shone. Symbols Crowley didn't understand littered the razor's surface.

The demon pinched at the closest blade with finger and thumb and with a short, sharp flick of his wrist, the tether was destroyed. The razor fell into his palm.

With his smile widening a little, Crowley pulled the burgundy handkerchief from his suit's left breast pocket and placed the small weapon into a fold.

Before long, all the blades from the rack were wrapped up neatly in the blood-coloured cotton square. Crowley folded the cloth again, returning it to the pocket from whence it had come.

Then, with one last look around the room, the demon vanished.


	25. For A Moment

_I do not own Sam, Dean, Castiel, Crowley, Lucifer, Bobby or any other Supernatural characters I may use or mention in this fanfic. _

**_So here it is, the final chapter. I hope it satisfies. I'll probably include an epilogue, but it will be short. I have a little idea that begs to be used here so I will probably upload one more small chapter a bit later. Anyway Enjoy. _**

* * *

******Chapter Twenty-Five: For A Moment.**

Dean placed the duffle bag into the trunk gingerly. The clink of metal on metal emanated through the canvas. Dean imagined the sound would be louder and his brow furrowed momentarily. He had half a thought to reach for the bag, open it and investigate, but stopped himself, knowing what he would find. Blood. It would be blood that hindered the volume.

The older Winchester felt himself grimace as the vision of the arsenal laid out on the table in the makeshift torture chamber, danced obnoxiously before his eyes. With it came unbidden images of Castiel bound to the rack, bloody and broken.

With a shake of his head to dispel the unwelcome memories, Dean slammed the tailgate closed and pivoted slowly to face the motel room door.

Instead he came face to face with Castiel.

"Hello Dean." The angel croaked.

A smile twitched at the older Winchester's lips as he took a step backwards and looked the creature up and down. The angel's suit appeared to be a little creased, his shoes slightly scuffed and there was a dusty black mark on the side of the tan trench coat he wore, but Dean didn't care. He was glad to see him back in his usual attire, glad to see him looking more like his old self again. Like he looked before Rachel and before the rack.

"You alright?" Dean greeted with a nod. He took another step backwards and leant on the trunk of the Impala, folding his arms.

"I went back to the warehouse." The angel stated, flatly.

The older Winchester gave a nod. He noted a certain sadness in the angel's eyes, but made a conscious effort to ignore it. It wasn't out of place, not unusual, not now anyway.

"Is that where you found your clothes?" Dean asked, treading lightly. He watched as the angel gave a slow shake of his head.

"Crowley was there. He gave them back to me."

Dean frowned. "How did he know where they were?" He wondered aloud, "Me and Sam searched every inch of that place and couldn't find them."

"He said that Rachel wasn't working alone." The angel offered, "He said he'd taken care of her accomplice; he could have gotten them from him." Castiel finished with a slight shrug of his shoulders, the movement barely enough to be noticed.

There was a few moments of silence as both parties pondered Crowley's motive. The pair shared a glance, knowing they were both thinking the same thing. They both knew Crowley couldn't be trusted and that he wasn't in the habit of just doing something helpful for the sake of it; there had to be a motive, Crowley wouldn't have even bothered finding the warehouse if there was nothing in it for him. But what was he after?

Castiel broke the silence, "I don't think Crowley can be trusted."

Dean scoffed, "Tell me something I don't already know."

"I mean, we should take extra care."

The older Winchester gave a nod, allowing his brow to crease itself into a thoughtful frown, "Did he ask you for anything in return?"

Castiel shook his head.

Dean raised his eyebrows a little in an expression of surprise. There had to be something Crowley wanted. What were they missing?

Dean reluctantly thought back to the moment they had found Castiel. He remembered the fight with Rachel. He remembered the satisfaction that came with digging Ruby's knife into her stomach. He remembered the ache in his jaw as he gritted his teeth in pure anger. Then he was alone with Cas, the angel buried beneath blankets and lying on the floor as still as if he were already dead. The older Winchester looked around the room. A host of instruments littering the table and floor. Three urns of holy oil standing proud on the wooden slab. The glowing pendant around the dead demon's neck humming beneath the corpse's hooded jumper.

Dean gave a frustrated sigh.

"Shit." He breathed.

Castiel gave a nod, having reached a similar conclusion, "He was after the weapons."

"And the grace." Dean added.

There was pause. Dean watched Castiel think, not wanting to disturb him. Eventually the angel spoke.

"Do you still have them?" He asked, fixing Dean with an intense, almost panicked glare.

The older Winchester gave a nod, "Of course."

"Give them to me." Castiel ordered.

Dean frowned and unfolded his arms, finding he didn't much care for Castiel's tone of voice.

"Cas, I don't think that's a good idea." The Winchester watched the angel before him narrow his eyes a little. Dean continued, "_We_ can stash them. Keep them safe."

"I think you should give them to me." The angel stated bluntly, taking a step forwards, holding Dean's gaze.

Dean's heart sank and landed in the pit of his stomach. It suddenly dawned on him what Castiel was getting at. He didn't trust him. Still. He thought he'd explained about the warehouse and how it hadn't been him. He thought they were over it. He thought Castiel understood. Obviously he had been wrong.

Dean studied the angel for a moment. He even seemed hesitant to come too close, choosing, for the first time since Dean had known him, to observe the rules of personal space.

With a sad shake of his head and a defeated sigh, the older Winchester turned towards the Impala and popped the latch on the trunk.

Castiel watched, silently, as Dean turned his back on him. The human turned to face him a second or so later, a khaki green duffle in his arms. Dean surrendered the bag. Castiel took it by the handles and brought his arm down to let it swing at his side.

"Where are you going to take them?" Dean queried, shutting the boot deftly behind him.

"I know a place." Castiel offered.

Dean raised his eyebrows and gave a shrug of his shoulders. "Fine." he offered, disheartened. The Winchester moved to walk past the angel.

Castiel gave a small grateful nod and a quiet, almost inaudible, "Thank you, Dean."

before turning away from the Winchester.

"Cas. Wait."

Castiel turned back to Dean, brow furrowing a little. Dean's gaze found the floor momentarily as he gathered his resolve. He bid his eyes find Castiel's finally and he took a breath to steady himself.

"Cas, you know you can trust me, right?"

The angel gave a nod. It was slow and weighted, "Of course."

"And you know that wasn't me back there, right?"

Another nod, this one heavier and a little more hesitant.

Dean shook his head, " Look Cas, I know it's hard. I know what it's like-"

"No you don't." The angel interrupted squaring up to him. Dean noticed the tone of self-pity in his voice nestling just below one of anger and contempt. It sent a chill down his spine.

"You cannot comprehend what it was like for me. I'm supposed to be-" Castiel stopped himself and looked away, a melancholic gaze trying to focus on anything but Dean.

The older Winchester waited patiently. He understood, well maybe not fully, but he could imagine; Castiel was supposed to be an angel and he felt weak enough with being cut off from heaven, but to have to endure torture at the hands of a demon?

He could imagine. He wished he couldn't.

Dean swallowed involuntarily.

Castiel took a breath, turning back to the human, "I appreciate your concern, Dean…" There was a solemnity to his tone of voice now. "…but it is complicated."

The Winchester gave a nod, "I'm sorry."

The angel turned away, "I will find you when I have finished." he offered, sullenly, before vanishing.

* * *

"Dean." Sam breathed as his brother entered the motel room, standing from his seat at the table which was buried beneath his laptop a few ancient looking books and the blade Sam had thrown at Rachel.

"Come on, Sam. I just wanna get on the road, you know?" Dean pleaded, not at all keen on his little brother's apparent disregard for his plans.

"But Dean, look." Sam manoeuvred one of the books so that Dean could read it. The older Winchester reluctantly studied the yellowing pages.

On the right hand page there was a drawing of a weapon resembling that of an angel. On the blade was etched various symbols that Dean assumed were Enochian. His brow furrowed as he realised that he'd seen them somewhere before. He found he couldn't place them though and turned to Sam for answers.

The younger Winchester picked up the blade from the table and held it out to him. Dean took it and measured it up against the image in the tome, his eyes widening with realisation.

"Sam, whose is this?"

Sam didn't answer. Dean tore his gaze from the blade and book, locking eyes with his brother's. He noticed Sam's gaze shift downward momentarily.

"Sammy?" he coaxed.

Sam set his brow and shrugged his shoulder's a little.

"Lucifer's." he answered finally.

* * *

**_Dun, Dun, Dun! _**

**_Hows that for an ending? lol anyways, I thought here would be a fitting place to thanks those of you who reviewed and added my story to your story alerts and favourite story lists. _**

**_So here goes; Thanks to Bridget8, AngelicCrayons, Millenia-the-wings-of-valmar, Daliha, midnyte, The Singing Duck, FallenAngel10086, Guiltypleasures exposed, Alicia Marianne, Rockinrachy and Dogstar-Black, CuteLioness and AMadBell for their story alerts and favourite story adds and reviews. You are all amazing and kept me writing, so thank you._**

**_Extra special thanks go to LastBishop who left the most reviews for the Fanfiction and who kept me writing the most. So thank you so much for your support, girl, and I swear that if ever this gets published then I'm sending you a free copy! _**

**_Thanks again. Love you all. _**

**_~~~Vi~~~_**


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